


White Blood

by SecondFromTheRight



Series: All We Do Is Hide Away [6]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-03-19 09:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13701519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondFromTheRight/pseuds/SecondFromTheRight
Summary: Continuing on fromInto The Good Life.“I thought I might…I worried I’d lose her, that she’d be…taken away from me. I didn’t think it was going to be like this.” He would have done everything he could, killed any fuck he had to, would have gone down himself to protect her, but he knew it was still a possibility. Maybe he’d be found out and he’d have to leave. Someone in her life not accepting him. Or maybe she would have had enough. He would have fought, for her, for them, but if it was what she wanted, he'd have gone. But not this, not Matt fucking Murdock coming back from the goddamn grave to ruin them.“Right now it seems like you’re throwing her away.” Curtis says.“Oh, fuck you, Curtis.” He scoffs, doing a double take to avoid his friend’s face as much as possible, but still he sees something that looks like pity, not insulted, Curt not rising to the bait.Matt's back. Frank doesn't deal with it very well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Last part of the series! And I'm super nervous again haha.
> 
> I don't know how long this will be yet. But I figure it will be one of the longest of the Series, if not the longest. There won't be any big Daredevil type plot or anything like that though.
> 
> Thank you for everybody who's reading this series. And thank you for all the really kind comments, especially on the last part. Everybody's been really lovely :)
> 
> I hope you all like this part.

Frank's standing at Karen’s tiny island in her kitchen making some food and wishing there was more space. There’s a nagging in his mind about the potential of them getting a place together, a bigger place. He’s done with family houses, but maybe a loft could work for them. He could afford it. He's barely touched the money David gave him, only using it for rent for Curt's group, replacing Billy's contribution. And he can always get more if he needs it. He’s running through a list of pros and cons of getting somewhere together before he realises it. Would she want to move? She got this place herself, she’s proud of it and maybe she wants to stay here. He could buy under Pete Castiglione. He’d like it in their name, in her name, but if someone tracks The Punisher to a deed with her name – he can’t risk that, but it is a risk he already takes by living in this apartment. A loft has no cover anyway. They could install a system, he's sure David would happily set up something, but Frank doesn't want to back to that kind of normal, and he doubts Karen would want any of that shit. An apartment would be better. 2 bedroom. Because…because what? In case Foggy wants to stay over? Fuck. He chucks the knife he was using onto the countertop. He’s a jackass. Maybe he should just get them a goddamn dog.

He’s distracted by the sound of the door. It’s hours before Karen’s due home and as he waits and stares at the doorway, she doesn’t come in. He's reaching for his weapon before he remembers there isn't one on him - he's fucking barefoot and in a vest and jeans, because he can do that these days, because he chooses to do that these days. His nearest weapon is in the end drawer of the dresser near the door. He starts edging that way.

She comes in just as he’s nearing the dresser. She’s leaning against the wall with one hand, her body slumped over as she stares at nothing.

“Karen,” He says going to her. She looks up at him, her eyes searching his face for something. There’s tears in her eyes and she looks like she’s in shock. “Hey,” he cups her cheek and makes him look at him, trying to get her to focus on him. Standing up, her bag drops from her shoulder with a thud. “Sweetheart, talk to me. What happened?”

“He…Matt. Matt’s back, he’s alive.“ she finally breaths, choking back an obvious sob.

“What?”

“He’s back! He just…he’s alive!" she repeats. "I got…I got a call, from Father Lantom. He’s Matt’s priest,” Of course Murdock would have his own priest that the people in his life know by name. He swallows his annoyance, keeping his attention on Karen. “I thought maybe he had a story or something, something he…” she trails off with a sniff, taking a short breath as she meets his eyes. “But he – Matt – was there.”

“Shit. Well, where has he been? What the fuck happened?” she spaces out right in front of him, her eyes glazing over as she looks away at nothing. “Karen?” He dips his head to try to catch her eyes, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek again. He’s barely touched her when she recoils, blocking his hand with her own, her forearm shoving away his. She doesn’t look at him, closing her eyes, tightening them more as she frowns, shaking her head. When he takes his hand back, carefully watching her pull away from him, mind and body, she puts her hand on her brow, hiding even more. She takes a deep, shaky breath. All he can see of her face behind her hand is her mouth, trembling lips that she bites down on. He waits.

“I’m fine.” She says, total bullshit. She turns her head, hand still hiding her away from him, and crumbles in on herself. Her shoulders pulling up and jerking as she tries not to sob.

“Hey,” he whispers, as gentle as he can. He stays in her space but doesn’t touch her. “Karen, it’s okay,” It was the wrong thing to say and he realises it as soon as she shakes her head back and forth. She takes another deep breath, through her nose this time as her shoulders loosen somewhat. Composing herself, hiding more. “Karen.” He tries one more time, trying to get through.

“I’m going to go shower.” She announces, more steady than she should be, than Frank knows she currently is. She takes her hand away from her face but still keeps her head low, and turned away from him. She starts to walk past him, around him.

“Do you…” he wants to ask her if she wants company, if he can just stand in the shower with her, take care of her, distract her with his tongue, whatever she wants, but he knows she’ll refuse it, refuse him, and he can’t hear that right now. “Do you want anything? Coffee? I was…making food. Do you want anything?” he asks, just hoping she’ll involve him, let him in.

She doesn’t even stop to think about it, only briefly turning her body towards him as she keeps walking.

“I’m fine, I’ll just take a shower.”

He stands and watches her walk down the end of the hallway and shut the bathroom door on him.

What the fuck just happened? Frank turns and bumps himself against the wall, leaning against it. He can feel panic building in his chest, and loss, that has him panicking even more. There’s anger too, worse, a possible rage. Fucking Murdock.

He checks on her 20 minutes later, and another 20 minutes afterwards when she still hasn’t come out. Both times she says the same goddamn phrase, that she’s fine. Like she’s allowed herself one lie to him but one lie only and all she can do is repeat the damn thing. The second time she says it with his name, breathing it like always that it deflates the anger he’s feeling. He can’t not react to her.

He makes her tea, hoping that will be better, that she’ll actually drink it. She disappears into the bedroom after her shower. He hears her on the phone and it scares him when that rage dissipates when he hears her say Foggy’s name, only realising how much it was building, how much it was there, when it starts to die down.

 

She cries that night in bed, but she won’t talk to him and Frank is too scared to push. Too scared she’ll physically block him away from her again, too scared she’ll tell him she’s done. He presses his lips against her skin, her neck, her shoulder, brushing his beard against her, burying his face in her hair as he holds her from behind, his grip tightening each time the panic comes back.

The day after she stays at work even longer than usual, late. When he calls she rambles in a way Karen Page doesn’t ramble, about the story she’s working on. Frank thinks she may be trying to convince herself as much as him that that’s what she’s really distracted by. He wants to go see her, he wants to go out and hit some piece of shit, but he does neither, staying in their home together, staring at the picture that Leo took and wondering how much longer he’ll be able to do both.

She doesn’t cry that night, but Frank can’t sleep, too scared it’s the last time, and he hears every time she takes a shaky breath in his arms.

 

The following day Frank’s in the living room, trying not to pace, trying not to break down, when he hears her come in, talking, and another set of footsteps.

“It’s not that simple, Foggy.” She says with a sigh, stopping short when she enters the room and sees him, like he’s not supposed to be there.

“Hey Frank.” Foggy greets him, looking less disturbed to see him than Karen does and that disturbs him.

“Foggy.” He nods back. Karen had asked him to call him Foggy instead of Nelson, claiming it was less intimidating. It hasn’t been difficult, she talks about Foggy often enough the nickname is what’s familiar to him.

“Okay?” he asks her as he closes the distance between them. Foggy moves past both of them, casually dumping his briefcase on the couch before helping himself to the fridge.

“Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t know you’d be here.” She apologises, gesturing to Foggy with a quick look at the attorney. He wants to fucking scream at her, grab her shoulders and shake her and ask her what the fuck she is playing at, but he figures Foggy would get involved, try to step in to protect her, to help and Frank would punch him in the face the way he’s feeling. So he clamps down, taking a breath through his nose.

“Where else would I be?” he counters, hoping to make a point.

“I don’t know,” she dismisses with the shake of her head, like it doesn’t even fucking matter. “We’re…” she turns to acknowledge Foggy again who’s rummaging through drawers presumably for the bottle opener, given the two beers he’s got on the counter. Two. One for her, one for Foggy. But he’s not letting her off that easy. If she wants him to go, she’s going to have to fucking say it. He stares at her, but she won’t look at him. She hasn’t looked at him in two days. He watches her swallow as she keeps her focus on Foggy across the room. “We’re going to…talk. Do you think you could give us some time?” she asks quietly, turning back to face him, her eyes focused on his neck, his collar. She briefly looks up, making fleeting eye contact before dropping it again, but it’s enough to make his shoulders sag. She looks afraid. He feels it.

“Yeah, sure.” He says numbly.

“Thanks.” She murmurs. She sniffs, bowing her head yet again but he sees the shine of her eyes. He risks reaching out to curl her hair behind her ear. Her eyes fall closed when he does, her head tilting to lean into his contact more. She presses her lips together, taking in a sharp inhale through her nose, moving her cheek against his knuckles that are brushing against her. He thinks maybe he almost has her, but then a drawer slams, Foggy making a triumphant sound and she jumps out of the moment, blinking and pulling back. He sighs a heavy breath, staring at her as his hand drops. He gives a single nod before he takes a couple of steps back to grab his jacket, hoodie and cap.

“See you, Foggy.” He says heading for the door. He can see him still from the corner of his eye.

“You’re… Oh, okay. Uh, bye, Frank.” Foggy acknowledges awkwardly.

He strides out the apartment. He has to make an effort not to slam the door off it’s fucking hinges. He didn’t even kiss her goodbye.

 

He walks, for a long time. Cap and hoodie, hands shoved in his pockets. He stops at a diner for a coffee but it just reminds him of a life he doesn’t live anymore, before Karen and him and a life he doesn’t want to go back to. He drains the coffee in one. He walks again, nothing helping. Wants to beat on Red’s face more with every step he takes. Finally, he ends up at Curtis'.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some issues with this one, just questioning myself a lot. So I split the chapter and focused on the first part of it so I could get something posted. It means the next Chapter may be a lot shorter than usual. Sorry about that.
> 
> I know there's some readers who haven't read the previous fics in the Series and I don't think there should be anything that doesn't make sense as a result, though I think there's a lot that won't have as much meaning. I do however recommend reading at least Part 4 of the Series, Hope Of A Heart. If sexual content isn't your thing, skim those parts. But there's stuff from that fic specifically that's going to come up in this one and that can hint at the why of Karen's behaviour.

He’s been ranting to Curtis for a few minutes now, and his friend has been disappointingly unhelpful.

“She and I wouldn’t even be together if he hadn’t died. Gone missing, whatever the fuck he’s done.” He continues, pacing back and forth in Curtis’ apartment.

“What makes you think that?” Curt asks from his spot in his kitchen. He loosens his tie, not long home from work when Frank knocked on his door.

“Cause I knew the bastard, didn’t I?” he says, briefly stopping and looking at Curtis. “They…she loved him.” He adds in a mutter, starting his pacing again.

“And she doesn’t love you?” Curtis questions.

“It doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?” Frank dismisses quietly as he stops at the counter near Curtis. He doesn’t know anymore. He would have said she does. He thinks of the way she looks at him, how they are together. He knows love, and he would have said he knows Karen. But she hasn't looked at him at all in days and right now his mind just feels fucked. And what’s the point of even thinking about it when it’s about to be taken away?

“Frank, why are you being such a special kind of asshole about this?” Curtis asks him. Frank leans both hands against the worktop, hanging his head. He rocks his body, once, twice, three times before letting out a heavy breath.

“I thought I might…I worried I’d lose her, that she’d be…taken away from me. I didn’t think it was going to be like this.” He would have done everything he could, killed any fuck he had to, would have gone down himself to protect her, but he knew it was still a possibility something could happen. And maybe he’d be found out and he’d have to leave. Someone in her life not accepting him. Or maybe she would have had enough. He would have fought, for her, for them, but if it was what she really wanted, he would have gone. But not this, not Matt fucking Murdock coming back from the goddamn grave to ruin them.

“Right now it seems like you’re throwing her away.” Curtis says.

“Oh, fuck you, Curtis.” He scoffs, doing a double take to avoid his friend’s face as much as possible, but still he sees something that looks like pity instead of offence, Curt not rising to the bait.

“What is it, huh? He better looking than you? I never took you for a jealous boyfriend type.” Curtis looks him up and down.

“I’m not jealous,” he rejects immediately. Jealous of Murdock? Fuck that. “And I’m not her…she’s not…” he trails off. Why is everybody so goddamn insistent on trying to slot him and Karen into labels?

“You've gotta be joking,” Curtis says flatly, his face dropping. “This is how you react to an ex being back on the scene but you can’t even accept she’s your girlfriend? What the hell, Frank?”

“That’s not what it is,” he says through his teeth, offended. “'Girlfriend' is for college students, dating shit. It’s meaningless for what we are.” He tries to explain.

“Hold up,” Curtis frowns at him. “So I meet someone and what, you won’t value her as anything until she’s my wife?”

Frank wouldn’t have said he was judgemental, but apparently he kinda is because he’s not even sure ‘wife’ would do it. It would entirely depend on what they were to each other.

“Don’t tell me you’re any different Curt, because you’re not. Brothers, right? Every time. Not friends, not fellow solider or some shit. Brothers. Because when you go through what we did, together, it’s more. It fucking bonds you, you’re family. It’s…” he takes a deep breath through his nose. “What Karen and I have been through…it’s more, alright. It’s just…it’s more.”

“Do you wanna marry her?” Curtis asks him, tilting his head at him.

“I didn’t say that.” He pushes back. He hears Curtis sigh. Maria Castle was his wife. He can’t – won’t – take that away from her.

“Frank Page,” Curtis says casually, making Frank turn to him. Curtis isn’t even looking at him. “Karen Castiglione.” He adds with a click of his tongue.

“Do you think you’re funny?” Frank glares at him.

“Kinda,” Curtis shrugs. “I'm not a fan of Pete Page,” Frank keeps his glare up as Curtis meets his eyes again. “Frank, man,” Curtis sighs, leveling a more serious tone. “I’m sorry, but I don’t get what this is. What is your problem with this guy?”

“He’s a self-righteous asshole who never deserved her in the first damn place. Never appreciated what he had with her.” He rants freely again.

“Then why does that change that he’s back again?” Curtis asks sincerely, clearly trying to figure it out.

“Because he’s back, ain’t he? That changes shit. Second chances and all that.” He thinks about David and Sarah, going right back to their lives as much as they could, as quickly as they could. Thinks about Sarah forgiving David for the shit he pulled, because that second chance mattered more. He knows Karen has regrets with how things went with Murdock, knows she wishes things had been different. Now she, they, will have another chance. Maybe she’ll end up with a new apartment after all, just not with him. Murdock seems like the kind of dick who would go for a loft, too.

“Is this about Maria?” Curtis asks carefully, narrowing his eyes.

“It has nothing to do with her.” Frank says slowly, low in tone.

“Frank, it’s okay that you’ve moved on. Maria would want you to have a life again, to be happy again. You’re not betraying her by being with Karen.” Curtis consoles, gentle and assuring like Curtis is, but fuck it still riles Frank up like everything does right now, because Curt doesn’t get it. Why does nobody get it? All anybody keeps doing is bringing up more shit. He never, not for a second, felt like he was betraying Maria by being with Karen, but maybe he is, if that’s how everybody keeps seeing it, keeps reducing it to. He never compared them like that though. He thinks of the times he's been aware of his mind bringing them together, thinking of Maria's laugh and hearing Karen's with it. Is that guilt? ‘Moving on’, again. That’s not…that’s not what any of it has ever felt like.

“I know that!” He snaps, his jaw tensing, his breathing deepening. “I’ve never seen it like that. Karen isn’t a replacement. She’s…she’s different,” He tries to explain. He exhales, shaking his head. Even in his nightmares where Karen dies - it's about her, it's not a switch out. She's not in his family home, or Central Park. It’s all about her, about Fisk, it’s her apartment, her old one, her new one, her office. Being too late to stop Schoonover, fucking it up with Wilson, pushing him too much. It’s places and people related to Karen Page. She’s not a replacement. But maybe he is to her, for Murdock. “It’s not the same as him.”

“Why not?” Curtis asks.

“Because –“

“Because Maria isn’t coming back like he has?” Curtis cuts him off.

“It’s not about Maria.” he growls.

“Are you sure?" Curtis challenges, not put off by Frank's attitude. "Because it seems you’re projecting your own shit here.”

“I don’t know what I’d do!” he yells, throwing out a hand then he curls into a fist as he tries to control his breathing. “I’d never have left Maria...or have done anything to betray her. But I… I can’t... I can't imagine not reacting to Karen. I can't imagine...who I am, without her. How the fuck am I supposed to deal with that? What kind of scumbag does that make me?” he briefly raises his eyes and looks at Curtis as he stands with his head low.

“No kind? You're human, Frank. How you feel about Karen doesn’t mean you loved Maria any less.” Curtis says sincerely. Frank shakes his head, turning away.

“What? Like she doesn’t love him any less?” he mutters, hearing the spite in his voice as he walks over to the couch, dropping down heavily.

“So it is about your own fears.” Curtis concludes.

“I don’t know. What if this is some other kind of war I’m…fucking creating, I dunno.” He sits with his elbows on his thighs and rubs his face. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s thinking anymore. She hasn’t looked at him for two days, that’s all he can keep focusing on. That connection he relies on hasn’t been there and because of it, he doesn’t know anything anymore. The centre of everything’s been taken away.

“You still think you need a war?”

“I didn’t. I thought I was… But what if that’s what it is?” he wonders, leaning back against the couch.

“So what if it is? You deal with it like you have the others.” Curtis advises, pragmatic as ever.

“Except I can’t, can I? I can’t…I can’t kill him.” He muses. He could get pretty close though, he has gotten pretty close before.

“Are those the kind of thoughts you’re having? About killing him?” Curtis eyes him from the other side of the room, caution and judgement all over him, like Frank’s about to go nuts and kill some helpless, pathetic ex of Karen’s.

“Oh spare me the bullshit, Curt, yeah? You have no idea what this guy is.” He scoffs as glares at Curtis.

“So he’s a bad guy?” Curtis asks, willing to accept there’s more. Always in Frank’s corner, even when he’s a difficult asshole.

“Look I can’t talk about it, alright.” He says quietly, regretfully. But he’s not going to spill Red’s secret, even if he can’t stop thinking about unmasking him and punching him in the face himself. Curtis would probably think the whole thing was fucking hilarious. Of course Karen’s ex is the ultimate good vigilante, protector of the fucking city. Blind lawyer to boot – his lawyer. He shakes his head, rolling his eyes.

“Does Karen know what kind of guy he is?”

“Yeah.” He nods. Though he's not sure how true that is. He's pretty certain she doesn't know about the dead woman on the rooftop. It wasn't that long ago she confided in him that she worried she'd never known Murdock. But he believes she knows enough. That's half the fear, that she knows Murdock, knows more now and now she can have that second chance with him.

“Then maybe you should talk to her about it.” Curtis suggests, right as always.

“Yeah.” He repeats in a whisper as he stares ahead in a daze. She won’t talk to him though. She’s made that pretty fucking obvious.

“Just talk to her, Frank,” Curtis finally leaves his kitchen area, going around the counter until he’s near Frank and looks down at him. “Hey, if anybody is going to understand insecurities, about a…lost significant other of their boyfriend or girlfriend,” he adds carefully. Frank turns his head to glare at him again at the use of titles. He raises a surrendering hand. “Sorry, 'partner'? Look, it’ll be her.”

“Hm?” he mutters, distracted by how fucking annoying it is that no one seems to get the issue with titles. Frank doesn’t even know what Karen refers to him as. The people in her life, who actually know he’s in her life – they already knew who he was. ‘Together’ is the one word he’d heard described. She'd used ‘we’ with Sarah. He remembers Doris, never labeling them but so clearly identifying them as a couple. That seems like a while ago now. “No, no,” he shakes his head when he realises what Curtis is saying. “She's…she’s not an asshole like me, yeah? She doesn’t have any problem with my family. She talks about them, you know? Asks about them, encourages me to talk about them. Always has. She's always...cared, about them.”

“Come on, man. She’s still human, like you," Curtis gestures at him, at the state of him. "Like you say, she's not an asshole, she gets how much they meant to you, still mean to you. But there's no way there isn’t anything, something, there for her. Everyone knows how much you loved Maria. That’s a lot for anyone to live up to.” Curtis shrugs subtly, a thoughtful frown on his face as he looks down at Frank.

Frank exhales as he stares blankly ahead of him again. He feels like he doesn’t know which way is up anymore. The ground that’s been underneath him, that he finally found again, has gone again. He remembers thinking he was adopting a life like Murdock’s, something normal by day, more leeway for the shit he deals with at night. He didn’t think that would happen, but it did. He didn’t think he’d ever have to worry about Murdock stealing his life, stealing the sanity, the meaning he’d found again, but that’s what’s happening now. And he can't do anything about it. There's no mission he can make, not really. He can't fight. He can't physically act on anything. He can't do anything but watch his world fall apart again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind words, as always. As I said, I did have some issues with this, doubting the quality of it. Those comments and support and how much faith some of you seem to have in me is really good motivation to try to ignore that self-doubt and keep going. So thank you :)
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be another chapter posted later today, a Frank and Karen one. I wanted to split the chapter.
> 
> And thanks for the patience with this update :)

Sitting on the subway heading back downtown, Frank feels exhausted. His body is heavy, and his mind dazed, and as he sits in the corner he finds himself more on edge, more worked up, more pissed off. All he wants to do is close his eyes and lean his head back, but he can’t do that. Because of who he is, he has to keep his head down, covered. And though he’s dog tired and just done, he still has to be aware, because of who he is, because of what he is. Red doesn’t have to do that – Murdock doesn’t have to do that, even though he’s something too. But Murdock gets the luxury of his stupid mask. He can sit on the subway, brazen as can be and no one would know it’s the damn devil of Hell’s Kitchen sitting there. Murdock can even come back from the dead and go back to his life. Frank never got to do that. Being a dead man was the only thing that allowed him to do as he needed to do. Coming back cost him as much as it gained him. And the only real power Frank has over the asshole is to expose him, and that isn’t an option. So he can’t do shit. Well, he can punch the guy's arrogant face in.

He stares ahead, letting the ride rock his body, juts of movement that remind him he’s alive.

He doesn’t know where to start with everything that’s going through his head. And anytime he starts to examine any one of them, that panic starts to go through him, hollowing him out. And for the first time, closing his eyes to think of Karen’s smile doesn’t soothe him, doesn’t quieten all the noise; it makes it worse. Because he could lose her, because he doesn’t even know if he’s ever had her now, because now he’s wondering how many times she herself was feeling insecurity or anger but wasn’t showing it. How many times when he thought she was right there with him, was she actually somewhere else in her head?

And what the fuck does all of make him? He was never in denial about his family being gone. Dreaming about them, waking up and thinking for a split second that maybe, maybe they would be there too…but he focused on vengeance. He knew there weren’t coming back. He felt it constantly in his bones, in his blood. And now every fucker is coming back, getting that second chance. And Frank doesn’t know if he’s choose it. He’s not David, they couldn’t all just go back. He’s different – too different. They were better off without him when they were alive, they’d be even better off without him still if there was a second chance. But thinking it, he feels a self-hatred he hasn’t for a long time. He clenches his jaw, fists his hands.

And Karen – it’s different. His life never lacked love, happiness - life - but what he’s found with her…it’s just different. There's a rawness to it, an honesty that's new for him. He didn't expect her. He didn’t expect to ever want to sit on the subway and wish he could be normal again.

It’s never been a choice for him, not between Maria and Karen. Maria was gone. The choice with Karen was if he could do it all again. Not caring about her, not wanting her - there weren’t choices there; he couldn't not care, not want her. But to stay - that was the choice. And he made it. Now he’s wondering what else was in that choice, where else he made a choice.

His mind comes up with images of Maria, of her telling him it was time to choose. Whether it as real or his fucked skull, Frank doesn’t know, but he knows he did choose, and it wasn’t to go with her. He chose to let her – them – go. He chose to stay where they no longer were, and then he choose to stay with Karen. Home. And he doesn’t know how to choose to let go of Karen – if he’s supposed to let her go. Where's home without Karen Page? He doesn’t know how to be without her; he doesn’t want to be.

He remembers one of the first times he was really aware of a choice regarding Karen. Now he realises his family was kind of on the other side. At least, a quicker way to get to the fucks who killed them. Karen wanted justice, for him, for them, and believed fighting a trial was the only to find it. He believed her, he wanted to believe in something again, in someone. He thinks he maybe even wanted to be good to someone again. And walking into that court room knowing there was a choice, between Karen’s way and what was being offered. It was hard. For the first time in a long time, there was a choice that was actually hard in front of him. Going with the offer felt like a betrayal to Karen, to what they had agreed together. And somehow that mattered to him. He couldn’t stop looking at her then, the only thing running through his mind. “Think about what you want.” The guard had told him, and he did have to think about it, about what exactly it looked like, how best to get it. And then Murdock opened his mouth and Red’s voice came out and suddenly he was just pissed. Suddenly there wasn’t a choice anymore because it was all a fucking set-up, all Red playing his bullshit. The whole fucking thing, Karen included. There wasn’t a choice after that. Frank wonders how that moment would have gone if it had been Foggy instead, and not Murdock. What would he have chosen?

With Schoonover, after he found out that Karen wasn’t part of Red’s game, that Karen actually just wanted to help him – there was never a choice of not putting down Schoonover, but Karen standing there asking him to see one tempted him. But even that then, it was too much like Red’s words.

Murdock has always been in his way, determined to be a pain in the ass, to disrupt the path Frank has chosen. It’s what the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen has done since Frank’s known him. Getting in his way, taking away the victory, blocking the goal. And patting himself on the damn back for it. And now he’s back doing it again, taking the thing that Frank needs to keep him sane. His peace. The asshole has never let Frank have it, never understood what any of it meant.

And Frank’s the bad guy. Murdock is the symbol, the hero, the good. It didn’t bother him before, he didn’t give a shit about who thought what of him. None of that mattered, none of that shit had any worth anymore. He didn’t need that feelgood righteousness, that validation that Red did. None of that had any power to him. His own family would probably celebrate Red, maybe even favour him. Especially now, with what Frank’s done since. How would they look at him now? Would they look at him like Karen does? He used to be a hero to his family, his neighbours. Now he’s the fucked up villain and it pisses it off that suddenly it bothers him somehow, like somehow he’s less, missing something – something that jumped up lawyer has.

Now it’s about Karen’s choice. Even with how fucked he feels, how angry, part of him still fucking warms at that, that it is her choice, that it is about her. The guilt that has her looking away from him now can fuck off. Guilt at choosing Murdock over him. That shit he doesn’t want. He doesn’t like what it makes her, shamed and hiding – that’s not Karen, but at least what happens will be because she chose it. She’ll have that. And that reminds him how fucking soft he really is for a woman he loves – except he never got to tell her he loves her. He thought there’d be more time. How has he not learned there’s never time? He fucking knows better. Some asshole will always come and take it away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is worth the wait!
> 
> Just a reminder that I also updated yesterday, so for anyone who hasn't read that yet.
> 
> And [Hope Of A Heart.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13189524/chapters/30169698%22) is the fic of the Series this Chapter references.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for all the kind words on the last update :)

“Hey, where have you been?” Karen asks the second he’s inside the apartment. He comes to a standstill at the doorway and stares at her.

“Serious? You fucking told me to leave.” He spits back, all patience he has just gone. Only then, only with the anger does she react enough to look at him.

“What?” her eyebrows furrow. “No I didn’t,” she shakes her head. “I just meant…I thought you’d go get a coffee or something. Foggy…” she looks towards the kitchen, but Frank chokes out a laugh, shaking his head too as he cuts off whatever she was thinking about saying. He throws his keys on the kitchen counter as he walks further in, figuring it’s time to give them back anyway and he doesn’t want fucking tearful goodbyes, wishes of it turning out differently. He isn’t interested in the bullshit.

“Okay.” He says, condescending as fuck and finding twisted freedom, power, in being an asshole.

“Frank.” She says his name like always, like this isn’t the last time, like they aren’t about to be no more, but delicate and with care like he matters, like his name matters. He ignores it, can’t hear it right now. Because she is why he’s Frank. Her. He’s Pete to everybody else. She lets him still be Frank, still wants him to be Frank. Except that’s not how it is anymore, and he can’t hear it. There’s confusion in her eyes – he ignores that too.

“How’s Saint Matt? Enjoying being back from the dead?” he mocks. Her eyes narrow in more confusion, but she doesn’t say anything, just stares at him. Now she stares at him, after days of not looking at him. The mention of Murdock is what makes her look at him and it just fans the frustration he feels. “Is he running around in his outfit yet? You get to see that now, right? Maybe you’ll enjoy it.” He continues, niggling. There’s a spark of something in her eyes, something he wants.

“What are you…" her eyes widen as she looks at him, figuring it out. "You think I’m going back to Matt?” she asks as she stands up.

“Well you are, ain’t you? I mean, that’s what gonna happen, Karen, right?” he stares right back at her, watching that spark alight. She takes a deep breath, folding her arms.

“What do you base that bullshit on?” she asks, her voice slow, and clear, angry. Good.

“I was there, remember? I sat across from you in that diner, that court room. I was there.” He was there to see her be more affected, more anxious about the attorney at the end of the table, or his empty seat, than the brutal killer sitting next to her.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about all the times you were with us at the office or in Josie’s,” she says sarcastically. The spark is fire now and Frank wants it. He finally has her attention, she’s not avoiding looking at him, and she’s not upset or sad, she’s fuming. It emboldens him even more. Now maybe she has the slightest idea of what he’s been feeling. “You never read Matt and I right. Ever.”

“That right?” he scoffs, smirking, happy to infuriate her even more.

“How can you know so much about who I am, about what I…” she trails off, pressing her lips together and taking another deep breath before continuing “But be so goddamn stupid about this?”

“Then why don’t you tell me, huh? What exactly did I have wrong?” he asks.

“All of it!” she yells, dropping her arms and finally showing herself. Showing something other than the closed off person she’s been with him the past couple days.

“Yeah? Which part, Karen? The part where you loved him? Let him treat you like crap but loved him anyway?” he takes a step towards her, tilting his head and meeting her eyes.

“Do you realise what you’re saying right now?” she speaks quietly again, but the fire isn’t any less as she over-enunciates, gritting her teeth. He gets her implication, his own treatment of her, but he doesn’t give a fuck. She’s looking at him, and if she’s going to end them, Frank isn’t going to let it happen quietly. It will be messy, like everything else they’ve been through together.

“Which part?” he questions again. “Come on. Tell me! Waited for him even when he didn’t deserve it?”

“The only person I waited for was you!” she yells, almost screaming at him. Tears shine in her eyes and he looks away briefly, not wanting to be affected by her upset.

“What about your dream the other month? Christ, Karen, our first time together and it’s because of Matt fucking Murdock.” He scoffs as he turns around, avoiding her face more. Instead he remembers that night, her tears for Murdock.

“You don’t know anything.” She says and he can hear the tears now, can hear her take a shaky breath. He tenses his jaw.

“Yeah, sure,” he dismisses, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his brow, smoothing over his eyebrows twice before letting his hand fall again. “Apparently our memories of things are a little different.” He says over his shoulder at her.

“You mean facts verses whatever your shit is?” she says with a clear, almost deadly voice. The anger is still there.

“Yeah.” He exhales a short, sharp breath, his eyes flicking around the apartment but not landing on anything.

“The last time I kissed Matt was before coming to see you for the first time. It wasn't unrelated. The day before, when we...met you, when we took on your case…Matt and I were supposed have our second date, but I stayed with you, for hours, because you asked me to. And Matt was off doing god knows what," she says with bitterness. "So we tried for the date the next night…except that ended pretty quickly when I told him that I…agreed with you, that I understood why you…” he hears her take another shaky breath. He tilts his head to see her, only briefly letting his eyes fall on her before he looks away again. “That I understood you,” she says in a clearer, surer voice. “And Matt didn’t get that. And that…that seemed like a really big roadblock I wasn’t sure we could get over.” She adds with emphasis, a dark chuckle. He can see her bring her hand up to her the base of the neck. She isn’t facing him. “And then, to really put the nail in the coffin, I went over to Matt’s place after trying to convince Foggy not to let Matt anywhere near the trial, because I didn’t want him near you, I didn’t trust him with you because he hadn’t bothered to get to know you, to find out anything about who you were or…” she trails off again. It’s the defence in her words that has him turning around to face her – fierce defence, for him, against Matt Murdock, even then. She shakes her head, still turned away from him. But he can look at her now. “But Foggy thought otherwise. So I went to catch him up on everything. And…some...man I’d never met before answered the door and let me in, and there was a woman…in Matt's bed,” The woman on the rooftop, he’s betting. So she does know about her. She scoffs, turning to look at him. Their eyes meet for the first time since she started talking. She crosses her arms as she stares at him, still angry. “And I realised how done I was, and had been for a long time.” She says with determination and Frank wonders if she’s also saying she’s done with him.

“Karen,” he tries, not even knowing what to say, what he can say.

“Shut up.” She demands, that quiet but burning fire to her. And he gives in to her. He almost wants to smile, because this is her. And even with the all of the shit of the moment, and the fear, he can’t take his eyes off her. That strength about her, happy to challenge him, to take him to task, she’s always been that way. Never backing down. It got his attention then and it still does now.

“When my apartment was shot to shit? Matt met me at the station - Brett had told him. He wanted to come with me, keep me…safe. I told him that I didn’t need him, that I wasn’t his and I was going to meet you, help you.” She continues to stare him down.

“At the diner, you… I know you loved him, Karen. I was there.” he says, now quiet as the anger drains from him, as he thinks about what came next for them after the only time he was at her old apartment. She gave him that chance, again, and seemingly she rejected Murdock to do it. But he remembers her face when he challenged her about him in that diner. He'd realised she wasn't part of the save the world preachy bullshit game Murdock was playing, that she was getting played like he was, by then. And he'd realised she knew it too.

“That wasn’t about me, Frank. At the diner…I told you how I felt about it. Matt hurt people, me, and that…was the type of person you got out of your life. That’s what I did. I told Matt I was done the day you blew your trial. I sent him away when he tried, when he seemed to remember I existed. I was sick of being lied to," there's still hurt to her as she says it, an anger, still. "I didn’t see Matt again until he asked me to meet him, and he told me he was Daredevil. And it wasn’t like that fixed everything. We very tentatively tried something of a friendship but he just lied to me again. Told me he didn’t miss it. Bullshit. And then the next thing I knew he was at my office telling me I was in danger and…” She swallows as she shakes her head, looking away from him. The arms she has crossed become protective, Frank watches as she tightens them against her body now. “And then everything happened and…and he was gone. And I never got to know. He never trusted me with it, any of it. Never involved me in it.” She looks back at him. “The diner…that was about you, about how you felt about love. About you…missing your wife,” He doesn’t think anybody else would hear the small intake of breath, the wobble of her saying that, but he does, and he starts to think Curtis may been right earlier. “It wasn’t about me, Frank. And it wasn’t about how I felt about Matt. Except than to find out if I knew he was Daredevil, you didn’t care how I felt about him.” Her eyes shine with tears again.

He wants to argue that, but he doesn’t know if he can. He cared about how she felt, he did, but maybe not about how he felt about Murdock. He realises something from those moments. Both of them, him and her, had compared him with Murdock - he was honest, Matt wasn’t - but he hadn't placed her in Maria's place. He hadn't compared Karen with Maria even then. The person he had compared her with, linked her in position with, was himself. He'd connected with her, decided she could relate to him. He'd wanted her to see something human of him. He'd wanted to impact her, because he knew he could, and because somehow it mattered - she mattered. He'd wanted her to see something good of him, especially with what he was about to do.

“Your dream…” he puts out there, the last thing he’s still holding onto. She scoffs, a sarcastic laugh coming out of her mouth before she wets her lips.

“Right,” she nods, her body jerking with it. “That would be because the night everyone thought you died? I was there,” she reveals, staring at him. She’s still fuming at him, and he still wants it, but now it’s as much because he thinks he deserves it as because he just wants to see her. “I was at the docks, all night, looking at bodies, for yours,” she doesn’t look away from him and Frank understands she wants to affect him, wants him to hurt, to recognise her hurt in this, at what she had to do. “Except I couldn’t find you, so part of me couldn’t believe that you were really gone, because that wasn’t acceptable. The reason I wouldn’t let go of the possibility of Matt being alive was because you were, because you had survived too.”

He bows his head and takes a deep breath through his nose, trying to calm down, trying to evict the images of Karen looking over bodies, trying to but hoping not to find his. It was only hours after the diner, when he’d left her in that bloody mess, and yet again she’d been in a mess of death that he was responsible for. He’d heard the sirens, seen the lights as he moved away. He knew he was leaving Red behind, but not her, not again. He’d told her to stay away from him and the chaos he was leaving behind him, but of course she hadn’t, because she’s Karen Page.

“Karen,” he tries again, taking a step forward, though still as unsure about what he’s going to say, but she cuts him off again as soon as he moves.

“And the dream you are so concerned with?” she continues, fire back in place as she pins him with a stare. “I woke up happy that Matt was dead, so glad and thankful that it was him and not you,” her face starts to crumble as she releases a quick exhale of breath, taking a sharp one back in. “Do you have _any_ idea what that…” she lets out a cry and she turns away from him, bringing her hand up to her mouth. He can hear her breathing against her hand as she tries to hold back. Her shoulders jerk.

She’s turned away from him again, cutting herself off from him again, like the last ten minutes didn’t happen. She is feeling guilty, but not because she’s about to leave him for Matt Murdock, maybe not even because of regrets she has about missed chances with Murdock, but because of a choice, because of a choice of want. And he understands that guilt.

Karen drops her hand, putting both hands on her hips as she bows her head. Her fingers grip the material of her blouse. Her watches her back as he hears her take a deep, slow breath. And again. He closes his eyes, screwing them up. He swallows and takes his own calming breath before he says it.

“Yes, I do,” He says it with his eyes still closed like a fucking coward, but revealing this makes him feel sick, this fucked up mix of ashamed and guilty, but also wanting to shout about how strongly he feels about her, a pride about it. But it clashes with what that means about his family, leaving them behind. “I do get…I get that.” It costs him so much to say it out loud, but he’d say it to her because she deserves it, she deserves it from him. And he will always be honest with her. He doesn’t know how not to be. But for how much it costs him, she dismisses it, just shaking her head.

“I can’t be here.” She announces with a panic, making a grab for her coat. She’s still turned away from him.

“Karen, wait.” He pleads, stepping towards her, following her as she turns for the door, still avoiding facing him. She dips her head, tilting away from him.

“Just…just stay away from me, Frank.” She says, quiet but it screams loudly in his mind. It echoes. He comes to a stop immediately, doing as she asks. She’s never pushed him away before. She’s always chased him. He can’t chase her if she’s not open to it. He stands staring at the doorway as the door slams shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support and encouragement of this fic. Everybody has been so nice. I hope this Chapter lived up to what some of you may have wanted.
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be another update this week.
> 
> Thank you for all the support and everybody sticking with this Series!

It’s the silence that gets him first as he stands eyeing the door. Total silence. He thinks that can’t be right. New York is outside the window, there’s a number of neighbours who are loud about their lives, sometimes the fridge buzzes, but somehow it’s just so fucking quiet, and it presses into his mind, against his skull as he stands stuck to the damn ground like an idiot.

When he manages to move again, it’s to gulp down a bottle of water. There’s one beer bottle in the recycling can, just one. Either one of them didn’t drink theirs, or the second was meant for him. He realises it was probably what Karen was looking at when she mentioned Foggy as Frank had walked in. She'd thought he'd go get a coffee or something, she'd said. Fuck.

He takes deep breaths, he rolls his neck, his shoulders, trying to get the oppression he can feel off him. He closes his eyes, fucking smells the apartment. But there’s no hyacinths this week. Of all the fucking weeks for the flowers to be absent. He’s so aware his sanity just walked out the door. And that - he doesn’t know what to do with that. He thought he was doing so much better. Thought the silence was a rare haunting these days, something he was mostly over. Fuck, something he can could actually enjoy, because he does. He sits in silence in this apartment all the fucking time, finding something soothing in the solitary, in the fucking purity and simpleness of it. Yet now he’s standing here trying not to have a shitfit over the screaming silence. And why? Because she wouldn’t look at him? Because she needed a couple of days to try to deal with her own shit? As if he hasn’t done the same, over and over. As if he hasn’t fallen into himself as he’d try to handled shit. As if he hasn’t seen her lose herself, hide herself, in his shit before they were even together. As if he doesn’t get why her and Foggy would come together through this – he still talks to Curtis about Billy sometimes. He knows the three of them were family, what they went through together; she’s told him that. Foggy probably needed it as much as she did. And he doubts Marci has been having tantrums about not being involved in every second and Frank is pretty sure she's still not in on the fact that Murdock is the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. She probably would have just rolled her eyes at them and left them to it, not giving much of a fuck.

Christ, he's more dramatic than Marci.

He didn’t even just tell Karen what his damn problem was – is. Didn’t just tell her it was getting to him. He’s so used to her getting his every damn twitch, his every tensed jaw, without ever saying anything. He’s such an asshole he couldn’t even acknowledge that she’s allowed to be too caught up in her own chaos to be focusing on him as much as usual. Instead he lashed out, threatening the possibility of leaving, when he knows that’s a weakness for her. And as an extra piece of shit he is, he made out it was her fault.

He'd lost his shit over it. Complete fucking meltdown. Is that how fucked up he still is? Is that now near the edge of ruin he constantly is? Even after all of it?

He knew how much power she has over him, has always had over him, but all of it – all of it, of what he has now, his life, his fucking happiness – it hinges on her. It’s built around her. Frank knows he can find focus, find purpose in other things, he knows his skills, what he can do, but he’s adjusted so much of that part of his life because he didn’t need it like he used to, because of her. He could leave people alive now, because Karen Page thought it was a choice he had. He doesn’t need to go on the streets most nights looking for pain and death, because he’s happy and alive with Karen Page.

He finds himself leaning against the pillar in the middle of the room. Solid.

He thinks about their conversation, fight, whatever. He thinks about that diner. He remembers her afraid, jumpy of noise, but not of him. He remembers her anger, her stubbornness, at Murdock, at him. And her sweet, her smiling, teasing. He doesn’t remember the words he used with her, that she’s seen as his view on love, but he remembers the cut and dry of it. Missing Maria, acknowledging the power, and the pain, the people you love can inflict on you, and choosing it. Ready to give up the shit he’d been left with to get that feeling back. To get anything close to it.

How does he view love? It’s not something he’s thought about, really ever, in definition. He just felt. He acted. He gave it all. He thinks about feeling alive in his life, and it’s not just Maria, his family, that comes to mind, it’s the battlefield. The power, the adrenaline, the success of it. He’d always known he took to it better than those around him, but he didn’t let himself question it, because he had the other half of him waiting at home. But even being home, he missed the noise, the risk. And it would show. In stupid fights with Maria, trying to light that spark. In the way he reacted as a father sometimes. But that's not how he’s been living his life these past few months, it’s not what he’s found a life in. It’s been the normal shit. The fucking quiet. Having his hands on Karen, neither of them even saying anything. Watching her work, the clack of her typing and rustling papers and the occasional groan of frustration the only noises as she does her thing, buying her flowers. That’s what he’s found peace in. Not in the fight. Not in his fight on the streets, and not in fights between them. Fights between them don’t make him feel on fire, they don’t bring out that adrenaline he thrives on. Any disagreements, disappointments, concerns between him and Karen – all of it has just had him panicking, on edge, jittery and terrified.

He’d fallen apart because she’d hidden from him, trying to deal with her own shit. Because she’d distanced herself. That’s all it took. That’s all it took for him to stand here almost fucking rocking back and forth as he shoulders the pillar that helps keep this apartment standing. He’d been thinking about buying a fucking loft two days ago for Christ sake.

He can’t leave. He can’t go out and control life, kill life, punish life, in a bid to experience it. He can’t leave these walls in case she comes back – until she comes back. Until she comes back. Until she comes back. Until she comes back. She’s fucking coming back, he repeats in his mind as he finally exhales a breath that actually feels like he’s letting something go. He thinks about calling Curtis, figuring he wouldn’t have to start from the beginning again, but he doesn’t know how much Curtis could help just now. With a sigh, he digs his phone out of his front pocket and calls David.

“Hey, Frank!” David greets him with his usual enthusiasm. At least it isn’t silence.

“David, I need your help with something.” Frank says, getting to the point.

“Sure man, what’s going on? I charge for services these days.” David reminds him.

“Yeah it’s not a – it’s not that kind of thing,” Frank dismisses as he looks down at the floor. “It’s about Karen. Me and…me and Karen.”

The pause that follows grates on him, he can feel the walls closing in again.

“…are you asking me for relationship advice?” David asks with caution.

“Something like that.”

“Is my life at risk here?” David questions.

“Lieberman.” Frank warns.

“I’m sorry, this makes me a little nervous,” David explains. “Is uh…did something happen?”

“Sarah forgave you, right?” Frank asks instead. “For all the shit you did? You…moved on from it,” he continues, using that word that everybody else seems to favour when describing his relationship. “Got past it?”

“Yeah, we're good. In a way, it's like how it used to be, when we first met, when we got married,” he can hear David’s version of happiness in his voice. “Don’t get me wrong, sometimes it's as if she remembers and she’s suddenly pissed at me again,” he jokes. “But yeah, we’re good. She gets why I did it.”

“And…what happened, with me? When she –“

“Stuck her tongue in your mouth?” David cuts him off. “Did Karen stick her tongue in someone’s mouth?” he asks with no seriousness at all and Frank feels that nagging buzz in his head that David sometimes sets off in him.

“I swear to Christ, Lieberman.” He sighs tiredly, his usual threatening not up to scratch with the way he’s feeling. He pushes off the pillar, looking at the door one last time in case maybe she’s somehow about to walk back in, before he turns around and goes for the couch.

“Yes, I got over it,” David confirms before muttering “For the most part.”

“How?” Frank asks, dropping down onto the sofa he’s sat on, slept on, fucked on, dozens of times. He lets the familiarity affect him, wanting it to.

“Uh, well it was a three-stage thing, really.” David says.

“What?

“The first was you straight up telling me you weren’t interested in her,” David starts. “Plus, it’s kind of hard to continue being a petulant dick about it when you were acting like such a grown up,” he adds with some mock-criticism. “But…seeing how you felt about Karen – that was stage two – helped more.”

“You mean with Wilson?” Frank asks, aware that David – that no one – had seen them together, that no one could really judge how they felt about each other then. But David had seen him act out and worry about her.

“Yeah,” David confirms. “I uh, well, when I found out about your flower communication with her, I checked her out. Just a tad!” he defends quickly. “I’d followed your movements for months, Frank, but I knew nothing about her. I figured you were threatening some journalist, honestly. She was some weird Punisher groupie was my second guess. And I thought I might have to…clean up, or something; I thought she would get in the way of what I needed your help with, so I kept tabs. That’s how I knew about the radio interview,” David explains. Frank gets why he thought such shit – the first was a perception Frank had put out there himself; it had kept her safe – but it still puts images in his head that don't sit right with him. “But I realised from that interview she didn’t seem afraid of you and she didn’t seem like an idiot, and you… You have to understand, man, until then…I thought you were all about death. The past. That that was your only focus, your only motivation. To get revenge, to end life. Everybody dies, right? That was the only thing that mattered. But suddenly you cared about someone. And not like Curtis. I hadn't seen that in you before then. You were willing to risk everything. It was so incredibly obvious that you loved her, that you wanted to protect her and you were going to do whatever it took to do that. I gotta be honest, it encouraged me to step up. It changed things. I'd hidden that whole time and seeing you like that...it made me realise I had to take the risk too. And as an extra, it made me realise that you really weren’t interested in anything with Sarah. I had known you loved your wife, Frank but Sarah loved me too and she was still sort of open to someone new. But with Karen…she had that part of you. It was obvious I didn’t have anything to worry about.”

Frank’s the silent one now, pausing as he takes it in. His grip on the phone tightens, he screws his eyes closed and has to make effort to keep the phone against his ear. He already knows she’s the good of him, the strength of him, but hearing it from someone else like it’s the most obvious shit in the world…fuck. What is he without her?

“What was the third stage?” he asks quietly, his voice rough as he sits on couch in the apartment.

“Sarah and I talked about it.”

“So she told you.” Frank concludes.

“Of course she told me. She’d tried it on with someone who turned out to be my bunker friend,” David points out like Frank’s a fucking slow idiot. “Anyway, she made me see that it wasn’t about you, and that she wasn’t really interested in you.”

“How?”

“Because she told me she loved me. Had missed me. Was pissed as hell at me," David lists. "Point is, it was about me. And you know, she said it was impossible to compete with a dead man.”

Frank quietly scoffs at that. It isn’t exactly what he wants to hear right now given it’s the damn problem. Thing is though, he hasn’t felt like he’s been competing with Murdock. Not really. Sometimes he’d wonder, but Karen never gave him any reason to. It was all his own stuff, his own guilt – and the assumption of others, that he’d “moved on.” That comparison that everybody else making had him wondering if she had a similar take too. That dream was the only thing really that came from her that made him question, and that had been about him too. He knew it even then.

But there’s the other part of what David’s said that has Curtis' words in his head again – does Karen feel in competition with Maria, a competition she feels she can’t ever win?

He sighs, feeling like he's going around in circles in his head.

“She didn’t stick her tongue in someone’s mouth, did she? I know you didn’t.” David says.

“No.” Frank grunts. No, she just reacted like someone still hurting, she just freaked out about the fact that her friend had come back from the fucking dead.

“So you had a fight then? That’s pretty normal, Frank.”

Frank chuckles. Fights over superhero exes coming back from the dead. Right, totally fucking normal. Except maybe some of is. The ex part. He thinks about Curtis again, his take earlier, not getting what was so worth the panic about an ex. But he’s not normal. Despite the normal roles and titles he’s most proud of in his life, despite loving and learning, despite the normal with Karen that makes breathing an easy thing he wants to do, Frank knows he’s not normal. Too many bloody shirts, too many weapons in the apartment, too much times Karen looks at him with a worry normalcy doesn’t attract. Him on the subway just hours ago and how he has to act to protect his new life. He isn’t normal. He’s not sure he ever has been.

“She’s pissed at me. I guess I…I didn’t handle something the right way.” He finally says, not giving anything else away. Calling his friend for relationship advice or not, it’s still his and he’s too protective over it to share much. The only one he’ll give that much of himself to is Karen herself.

“Frank, whatever you two have seems to work. My best advice is to do what it is you’ve been doing so far.” David suggests, as bland as anything.

“Right.” Frank dismisses quickly with a single nod.

“I’m serious man,” David reiterates. “The only ones who get you two is the you and her. You’re the one that knows her. However you kept your relationship through all of it – you can get through whatever this is. Think about what you want, and just do it. Isn’t that how you work anyway?” David says with what Frank thinks sounds like some mocking. David does like his cheap shots, especially when the fucker knows there’s a legit point thrown in there. Asshole.

Frank switches the call to speakerphone and does something he’s used to, finds the picture of him and Karen. He rubs this thumb over the screen, staring at it. He frowns as he realises something, realises he’s in the picture. It’s him and her, both of them. And it’s a fucking action shot of their relationship. Her there, talking him through, keeping him sane, keeping him grounded. He thinks about the other picture he’s paid as much attention to the past year. The posed one, that he is not in. He chose it on purpose when he torched his own house. Just them, his family, not tainted by him. Them, better without him. And happy, looking without a fucking care. But the picture of Karen and him in the Lieberman’s kitchen – he fucking treasures it, even though it means looking at himself, looking at himself in a crisis. The third picture that comes to mind as he strokes over the screen again, is the one he can see just by raising his eyes. Karen, Murdock, and Foggy. That thing has picked at him since he came back, fucking taunting him. Except the point is in the damn thing. Karen, Murdock, and Foggy. The three of them, a unit. Her family. Not her partner, like he is.

“Is your lack of response your begrudging way of accepting I’m right?” David asks, chirping from speakerphone. It’s the loudest noise in the apartment since Karen left, making him realise he’d been silent as he stared down at his phone. The pressing against his mind has let up again.

“You have your uses, Lieberman.” He says good-naturedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you for all the kudos and comments especially!
> 
>  
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thank you so much for support of this Series :) And thank you for sticking through the angst!

She’s gone for exactly 128 minutes. He counts it, treats it like a countdown to stop himself going insane and scoffs at the fact that he could wait for hours for a mission. Still, silent, the only thing to worry about was his piss jar filling up. He’s good at everything it involves, he always has that control. It just gave him more motivation to keep it going. Except when it comes to possibly losing her. And maybe it’s worse now that they share their lives, but it’s always been that way. It’s partly what brought him back here, even as he watched her, even as he kept up his effort of making sure she was okay and his choice to stay away, the idea that he was losing that connection with her, losing what he’d always understood as her, terrified him enough to push him out of hiding. Since the damn hospital room where he felt this need to let her know she'd been safe, trying to keep whatever connection they immediately had, it's always been there.

It burns at him to stay here waiting. Unlike any mission that always feels offensive, staying here trying not to pace the fucking room just feels passive, useless.

And he’s worried about her. Knows he shouldn’t, but he still knows better than anyone who and what is out on those streets. Just because Murdock is back doesn’t mean there isn’t just as much scum as there was last week. He knows she can take care of herself, but what if something happens? What if tonight is the night someone she’s pissed off with a grip of a story decides to go after her and he doesn’t even know where the fuck she is?

He has to stop himself going for his phone to call her, again. He wants to respect her space, doesn’t want to chase her like an asshole, but fuck it’s hard.

He breathes in the apartment, remembers how many good days he’s had in here, remembers he’s been happy here, remembers he’s in her space, their space.

 

David texts him an hour after their call.  
_Did you sort it out yet?_  
_No._  
_Well you being a terrifying killer wasn’t a deal-breaker. I doubt whatever you’ve done will be the thing that turns her away._

 

Frank doesn’t text him back, but he does go over the conversation they had in his head. Normal fights. Does he make them dinner or something? As an apology? Or is that too normal? He’d end up making them dinner anyway because she still can’t cook, another thing about her that has her made for New York. Even though he tries to teach her, she’s still limited to three dishes, but he doesn’t give a shit because her getting in the way as she tries to help makes him happy, makes him laugh. And her praising him for something so normal, something that isn’t death, makes him happy. And he’s so sure she’s just as happy.

He thinks about those thoughts that sometimes creep in, that the last few days have brought forward, again. That David is right, Frank can fix this, because he’s good at this, he’s good with her. Maybe better than at anything else. That sometimes he’s felt like he was made to share this life with her, because it does come so damn naturally. And he figures that’s part of why it is so goddamn extreme when shit like this happens, because it feels so wrong for shit to go sideways with them.

 

“Leave, Frank.” She says quietly, can’t even pass as a demand with how careful it is as she enters the living room just as carefully. And she's back to not looking at him. He takes the extra second to control himself, to not act out, glad she’s at least safe.

“I can’t do that.” He says calmly and her eyes shoot to him, looking pissed, a Karen Page pissed. A fight back, a pride for herself and what she believes in.

“No? Seemed pretty easy for you before.” She taunts, and it is a taunt, a test. Part of him does want to react, but it doesn’t anger him, he doesn’t feel offended by it, because he knows this is a fear of hers, always been. Maybe as much as it is for him. Since she first let him in the apartment even after their parting when she'd promised she was done, and she gripped him in a hug, the day he came back to her door and she yelled at him to stay, all the way to him overhearing her telling Sarah. He’s seen it, over and over. After meeting Doris, the way she presses her lips together when she strips off his bloody clothes or smooths her fingers over his injuries and scars. Even that goddamn dream. She fears losing him just as much as he fears losing her.

“You’ve been thinking I was going to leave since I came back.” He states.

“Yeah, can’t imagine why.” She says pointedly, raising her eyebrows, pushing again. But he’s not going to give attitude here. He doesn’t want to, all he wants to do is fix that fear.

“I’m not leaving.” He promises.

“Well it isn’t just your choice anymore,” she rejects, breaking their eye contact. “Get out.” She repeats, but her eyes watch the floor and he can see her chest breathing deeply even from here. He’s a little disturbed by how calm he suddenly feels by it all. He can see she’s a mess in front of him and in response he feels the need to get it together. He feels strong.

“I love you.” That’s how he says it. Possibly the furthest from perfect that could exist, but he says it, because it’s the simplest, most assured thing he knows. And she needs to know it too.

“No,” she shakes her head in small movements as she stares at him. “No way do you get to say that to me now!” she lashes out, her anger changing to annoyance.

“Tough,” he shrugs, can feel the curl of his lips he can’t seem to help. “I fucking love you.”

“That’s not fair!” she cries.

“I know that, alright,” he steps closer to her. “And I’m not… I wanted to kiss you every fucking day, Karen. I’d look at you and just… But I waited. I waited for the perfect fucking moment, for you. And because for some reason I felt like I had time. Suddenly, I had time,” he lets out a laugh. “I could just…” he trails off and stares at her, looks at her. “I’m not waiting anymore. I love you. With every fucked up part of me. With all of me. I don’t even…I don’t even know who I am without you anymore.”

“That’s not healthy.” She says in a whisper, shaking her head again, looking afraid, and guilty. He knows that look too, recognises what’s in front of him because it’s just another reflection of him. Him thinking he wasn’t good for her.

“Yeah, no shit,” he scoffs. As if she’s ever known him as healthy. “Do you love me?”

“You can’t.” Her voice cracks and she takes a shaky, slow breath.

“I’m gonna. No more bullshit, no more…fucking tip-toeing. Do you love me?” he asks again. He knows she does, he fucking knows it.

“Please leave.” She says in a cry, breathing the words.

“I can’t do that.” He repeats.

“Frank.” She gasps. It does him in, because that, the way she’s always said his fucking name, always kept him alive, when no one else cared, when he was a dead man, when he was nothing. She kept him alive. The solid ground he had crumbles with it.

“I’m sorry, okay?” charging forward to close the distance between them. “I’m so fucking sorry. Karen I… I’m just so fucking terrified of losing you. To someone coming after you, to you realising how much better you are than me and I never fucking deserved even a second of your time. To Matt fucking Murdock. To everything.” He lets it out.

“And you thought being an asshole and pushing me away would be the way to deal with that?”

“You wouldn’t… I can’t…” he takes a breath. “What you said, about being…about waking up glad he was…that it wasn’t me. I do understand that. Maybe not to…” he stills, briefly closing his eyes. “Not to that extent, exactly, but Karen, I… part of me…part of me is… What if I hadn’t known you? I can’t…”

“Frank.” She says again, keeping him going as he gets as far into her space as he can without touching her.

“How I am with you? How you make me… I’ve never… It’s like nothing else. And I don’t know how to…” he struggles to explain, to apologise. He wants to fall in front of her.

“I’m…I’m really tired.” She says, her own apology obvious in her voice as she starts to back away from him. He stops, the energy he'd worked up falling away again. That look is back on her face and it makes him stand up taller, for her, for them. He can do that, he will do that.

“I’m not leaving. Karen.” he says one more time.

 

He doesn’t sleep, sitting in the silence and knowing she’s there. He doesn’t disturb her either though. Forces himself to trust that he can do this, that David is right, that he is right, and he knows how to do this.

He tries to read, like he’d do in quiet times when on tour, like he’d do in quiet times when the mission of avenging his family seemed over and he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing next. But he can’t really concentrate on the words. Instead he thinks about how many of the books on the shelves are his, next to hers. He thinks back to that first night where Karen Page silent and asleep in this space as he held a book was everything. Enough to create a whole new future. He tries to comfort himself with the fact that he’s still here, in this space. It means something, it still means everything. At least he finally told her.

 

He does hover in the morning, making a point that his presence is there. He feels like shit, fucking exhausted and slow in his body. But awake somehow. He doesn’t feel the tension he has the last few days, just heavy.

She pours him coffee but she doesn’t say anything to him. He doesn’t say anything either. Silence. The sound of her moving around, of the shower, he lets himself feel it, immerses himself in it. He relearns it.

When she’s ready for work he thinks about offering to go in with her, but she grabs her purse and cautiously walks up to him. He stands still for her, only closing his eyes when she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his beard rubbing against her.

“Karen.” He says in a whisper without even meaning to. She responds by stroking over where she kissed. He remains still for her, at attention, not for the first time. Her eyes are red, tired and somehow it's another thing that reminds him of when he first came back. That was the last time he saw her look that kind of lost, that kind of alone.

She watches her leave, grateful for the way she makes a point of turning around to look at him and giving him a quiet smile as she walks out the door this time.

It’s amazing how similar and how different it feels from yesterday.

 

He tries to get a few hours sleep in their bed, happy for the full sensory experience of it, but it’s still restless without her. It’s another thing that’s just about her. Frank certainly been kept awake, haunted by the shit that’s happened, that he’s done, that he’s not done, but he’s never been lost of sleep because someone wasn’t next to him. He spent too much of his life sleeping in quarters, alone, but surrounded by others. But now he’s fucked without Karen next to him.

The only thing he does that day is go to the florist. A bouquet, instead of bulbs, so it’s already blooming, so the smell is already there. He asks Wendy the florist to add some small white roses.

 

“Karen.” He says as he quickly picks up the phone after the third ring late afternoon, about an hour before she would usually start to finish up for the day.

“Actually, it’s uh –“

“Foggy.” He acknowledges flatly.

“Right, Foggy!” Foggy perks up. “Uh, Karen’s going to stay here tonight.”

“Put her on the phone.” Frank orders.

“Yeah, no, can’t do that.” Foggy rejects.

“Nelson.” Frank tries.

“Oh that’s not going to work either,” Foggy shuts him down. He's always got more spine than it appears, Frank isn’t surprised. “Look, she told me what happened. At least some of it. She’s not kicking you out of her apartment. Maybe recognise that. She just needs…”

“What am I supposed to do? How do I make it better?” Frank asks Karen’s best friend, a friend she’s involved in their life together.

“You’re really asking me that?” Foggy checks.

“I’m really asking you that.”

“This might surprise you – surprises me, frankly, but uh…I think you’re the best person to figure out what’s right to do.” Foggy says. It’s funny that seems to be everybody’s advice. He wants to see the good in that, that people on both sides of them think he and Karen are so sure that he can fix it. He doesn’t feel as much helplessness as he did at first, but there still is some doubt. He doesn’t want to push her, wants to respect her, give her that time she always gave him, be patient and supportive, but he just wants her in front of him.

“Yeah, I’m not sure about that.” Frank sighs.

“Well I am,” Foggy says easily. “And she is too. Just…just give it some time.”

“How much time?” Frank asks. How much time does he have to be without her? He spent months doing that, and made the choice that wasn’t how it was going to be anymore. He doesn’t want to be away from her anymore. He doesn’t even give a fuck if that does make him a fucked up mess, co-dependent, whatever. Karen’s never known him as normal, never known him as healthy. But it hasn’t gotten in the way of them being normal together, of loving each other, even if they hadn’t fully said it. He misses her. And he’s sick of this passive shit, so used to going after what he wants.

“At least the night man, come on.”

“Is she…can you just…” He pinches his nose.

“I’ll look after her.” Foggy assures him.

“Right, yeah. Thanks.”

“She’s my friend.” Foggy says obviously and Frank imagines him shrugging, maybe looking kind of affronted.

“She’s my…” He stops, still stuck on this.

“What’s the end of that sentence?” Foggy asks and it’s the first thing he’s said that pisses Frank off, that sparks a flare of annoyance in him.

“Are you enjoying this?” Frank snaps defensively.

“Enjoying seeing Karen in tears over you? Wondering if there’s something wrong with her because she's in love with a brutal killer?” Foggy hits back without missing a damn beat, untouched by Frank’s anger.

“Stop,” He pleads, closing his eyes. “Please.” Why does it bother him when Foggy says it but with David he doesn't give a fuck?

He hears hushed whispering on the other side of the line, at least two voices. He knows one’s Foggy and the other is Karen. A spiteful, shallow part of him wants to ask if Murdock is there too.

“Just give it the night.” Foggy repeats, clear again, and Frank gets the impression he’s not just saying it to him. Frank grabs onto it, giving himself an expectation, a schedule he hopes he can rely on and work to.

“Will do.”

“Oh hey, if Marci ever asks anything about it I didn’t say anything about her being my Punisher.” Foggy says with the first sign of nervousness.

“What are you talking about?” Frank asks, almost happy for the distraction.

“Well,” Foggy starts as if he’s getting ready to tell some big story. “Karen and I were talking about you both and we realised that with Marci’s, you know, first impression to people she’s kind of…scary and soulless, but really, when you’re lucky enough to see how sweet and smart –“

“ _Foggy_.” He hears Karen cut him off in the background, trying to talk her friend down.

“Right,” Foggy says, cutting himself off. “Uh, we’ll be in touch.” He adds as he hangs up, as if he suddenly just remembered he’s an educated attorney for a well-respected firm and this is all negotiation.

Frank lets out a short laugh. Frank doesn’t think he’d believe Foggy competent if he hadn’t seen him in action himself. But he’s also seen him drunk, swaying back and forth with an arm wrapped around Marci, trying to get her to join his bellowing attempt at singing. And Karen smiling happily as she watches, avoiding Foggy’s occasional attempt at grabbing at her too. He sighs, still frustrated that he can’t do anything, but at least she’s with someone who can make her smile when he can’t.

 

Knowing Karen’s not coming back that night, he goes out for the first time in days. He may not need to be out here anymore in order to feel alive, or useful, or even to calm the chaos in his mind, but he still enjoys it, still chooses to do it. He can still help this way. He can’t ever be an active Marine again, but he can do this. He can still complete a mission.

So of course a certain sanctimonious asshole ruins it for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the reads, kudos and comments!
> 
> I know another phone call maybe wasn't necessarily, but it was actually one of the first things I wrote for this fic. Well, actually, I wrote the Foggy and Karen interaction until I remembered it was a Frank direct POV fic haha. So I had to translate it into a phone call.
> 
>  
> 
> The next Chapter will be a shorter one, just the interaction between Frank, Matt and someone else. I'll try to get it done in the next few days.
> 
>  
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longer I sat on this chapter, the more I hated it. So I'm finally giving it up and just posting it. It was fun to write originally though. First time I wrote some of the characters so kinda nervous about that.
> 
> Thank you to everyone still reading!

“You are fucking kidding me.” He grunts as Murdock – as Red, full outfit on – walks up to him, casually like it’s been happening every day.

“Frank.” Red greets him. It’s the first time Frank’s heard that voice in over a year and fuck it makes him want to punch the mask of his face. It’s also the first time Frank is so aware how long it’s been since he felt real rage, how absent it truly is in his life now.

“Are you looking to die again already, Red? I swear to Christ, I am not in the damn mood.” He says through his teeth.

“I may have been…gone,” Murdock says, slowly navigating the word like he can convince himself of it. “But this is still my city.” He announces and there it is. Arrogant fuck.

“What, and you abandoned it, did you?” Frank taunts. “Think you can just waltz back like nothing’s changed?”

“I heard about you and Karen.” Murdock says as he starts to walk towards Frank, with sure, slight and silent steps. Even the way he moves pisses Frank off.

“That’s none of your business.” Frank warns in a low tone. He can feel his blood getting hot.

“I’m not going to let you hurt her.” The wannabe superhero says as he comes to a stop, clearly fully believing he has some kind of right to say it, to be the one protecting Karen – from him. As if she can’t do it herself. As if Karen hasn’t had him at gunpoint, as if other fucks haven’t hurt her – and Red doesn’t even have a damn clue.

“Me?” Frank scoffs. “You don’t know anything about us. You’re the one that fucked off.” He nods at him.

“And you were happy to swoop in, Frank? Is that it?” Murdock questions and it goes a ways to calming Frank down, realising the son of a bitch really has no idea that he and Karen had already started something, already had something, when Murdock was still around. For all of the shit Red can do, for all the skills he has, he’s just like everyone else on this. Madani is the only one who got close. He’s half tempted to tell Red that the best of Homeland Security identified only people in the world who might have even a half-assed idea of where he could be, or have access to him – one was his best friend and fellow solider, his proxy family for half his life, and the other was Karen Page. And there was a miscalculation on which fellow solider, but the guess about Karen was right. He wants to say it just to see that cocksure expression fall from Red's face.

“Way I hear it,” he says instead as he takes a step to the side and points at Red “You two were over anyway. I seem to remember a certain other woman you pretty damn dedicated to one night.”

“Don’t talk about her.” Murdock demands. Frank watches as he tenses, enjoys it, enjoys causing the reaction. He wants to smack Red off that pedestal he keeps himself on. Make him have to walk around on the ground with the rest of them.

“Why not? I thought you wanted to share,” he continues walking in something of a circle, closing in on Red but keeping distance at the same time. “She another thing you lied to Karen about?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Frank.” Murdock pants in an exhale as he stands there, obviously gearing up for a physical fight.

“No? Are…are you sure about that? She is the one Karen found in your bed, right? Or are there others too? She seemed pretty special to you.” He continues to push Red, remembering that rooftop, remembering Karen’s account of what Frank is sure is the same woman – ignoring that ripple of guilt that he’s taking what Karen's told him and using it for shit like this.

“She’s gone.” Murdock reveals, his tone sounding the most eerily empty Frank has heard. There’s no smugness, no self-righteousness, no confidence, it’s all gone. It’s just said like a meaningless fact.

“Yeah, I know, Red, I was there.” Frank says with some awkwardness, feeling the adrenaline he's worked up start to drain away.

“No, not…not then,” Murdock says in an exhale as he stills even more, barely any movement from his body. Frank had almost forgotten he did that, like some goddamn statue on the buildings of the city. “She came back. They brought her back. They needed her, so they brought her back.” He finishes in another pant, a deliberate puff of breath like he thinks he can expel the truth of it so easily.

Frank laughs. A deep bark that turns into a rolling chuckle. He can’t help it, because of course. Of fucking course mystery dead woman would have come back, whatever the fuck that means, because that’s what everybody does apparently. Every fucker gets that second chance.

“I’m glad that’s amusing for you, Frank.” Red states flatly.

“Aw Christ Red. It’s…” he trails off with a shake of his head. He exhales in a slow sigh. “Fuck sake. So what? You decided to go out for good with her this time?” He asks. Murdock lowers his head, showing his stupid horns off even more. It’s as much of a positive response as Frank needs. Murdock did what Frank didn’t, Murdock made the choice that Frank didn’t. “And she didn’t come back with you?” Red shakes his head in a single, slow move. Frank remembers what Karen said about that group of fighters that night, that the set up with them all was “weird”, but seriously? He knows that woman was dead, he fucking watched it happen. So Red was no longer breathing dead too? For how damn long? It’s too fucked up, even for him. “What was her name?” he asks.

“Elektra. Her name…her name was Elektra.” Murdock says quietly, with loss that Frank feels sympathy for, but he doesn’t show it, locking it down instead.

“And you think what, that Karen is a good second choice for you?” Frank questions, turning things around again and relying on what he thinks about so much, what has lead everything that's happened this week.

“Isn’t that how it is for you?” Red asks, lifting his head and looking directly at Frank. Damn devil.

“No, it’s not,” Frank says easily, feeling some tension ease again. Red may be the first one he spoke to about his family, but the way this is going has Frank realising how much Murdock doesn’t know, doesn’t get. “Like I said, Red, you don’t know anything about us.” Frank says, feeling confident in that fact. Murdock tilts his head in a jerk, an action Frank has learned means he’s listening for some shit, or trying to work something out. Frank narrows his eyes at him.

“She’s too good for you.” Red states, back to high and mighty as ever.

“Maybe, Red, maybe,” Frank nods, taking a look out into the city, thinking of the shit that lies out there, that Karen seeks out, trying to make things better – including him. She never hides away from any of it, never hesitates to involve herself in any of it, because it's what she chooses to do. “Thing is, that’s really up to her. She can make up her own mind.”

“She’ll see who you really are, Frank.” Red warns, walking towards Frank. He’s back to how he appeared, the loss that humanises him, that calms the ego of him, gone. Instead he’s so sure of himself, of some perceived cause he thinks he has the right to be involved in, again as if he’s about to challenge Frank, to protect Karen from him. He’s not just an asshole, he’s a clueless piece of shit too. Too caught up in his crusade, convinced he’s the only right fucker, all on his terms – and missing everything that’s real because of it. It’s not just Frank, or him and Karen together that Murdock doesn’t get – it’s Karen herself. He doesn’t know her, and not a fucking inch close to how Frank knows her.

Frank's found himself being aware that he never really saw Karen and Murdock together, again and again. He saw Karen caring, affected, and he knew she was lied to. He’d stared at that picture of them so many times over the months, but he made up how it was, how he thought it must have been between them, in his head. He based the image he created mostly on knowing Karen, how she is with someone, what it’s like to spend days with her, but he doesn’t see any of that in this conversation. He doesn’t see Karen Page in Red’s defense of her. Some unsure, unknowing delicate thing that needs Matt Murdock to save her.

He feels that rage again, for a bunch of shit this time. On account of Karen, of how the asshole has treated her, for leaving her without any telling her the full truth and a bunch of unresolved questions. For coming back and fucking everything up. For trying to get between them, for making Frank question himself, question Karen, what they have together. He feels resentment that Murdock can be as fucked up as Frank is but could to take Karen to dinner and only focus on her, that he can walk down the street with her and not worry who’s watching. He’s pissed that Red may be truer than he is, that the asshole was committed to the woman he lost more than Frank was – that he chose to go out with her while Frank chose to kill and to stay, and all the thoughts that brings to his mind. He wants to physically fight, wants to win. Something he knows he’s good at, that is true to who he is.

He matches Red’s approach, his steps more casual as they close the distance between them.

“She knows who I am. See, Karen was the one who went to bat for me on my case, remember that? Or were you too busy with your…Elektra?” He says in a low voice, leaning into Red’s space, provoking him. He watches Red stand up taller as he fills his lungs, his right hand fist in anger. “I guess you won’t get another shot at that.” He adds, as much of an asshole as he can be, resulting in exactly what he wants. Red’s fist gets tighter and his upper body edges forward, the tension running through his muscles. Frank stays as still as he can while still being prepared.

Frank takes the blow that Red aims at his face, kicking Red in the shin and following with a boot to his gut as he goes down. Red grabs his foot as he’s pulling back so Frank kicks out again. He doesn’t connect but he gets free, Red getting himself into a crouching position, and staying there. Frank starts to go for him again when he’s yanked back, flying through the fucking air and landing with a grunt. When he looks up he sees Jessica Jones heading for Murdock who is rising to his feet again. He notes that she doesn't look surprised to see Red alive.

“This is a private conversation, lady!” Frank complains as he slowly gets himself off the ground.

“Yeah, sorry about that, but I know him, so…” Jessica shrugs. There’s a scowl on her face like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Yeah, I know him too. And you’re Jessica Jones.” He says casually as he wipes dirt off his clothes.

“You know my name. Are you some weird stalker?” She questions with an even deepened scowl. Frank sighs, about to remind her that she’s the one that got involved in his business.

“Jessica, this is Frank. Castle.” Murdock introduces them, as if Frank didn't just deliberately provoke him and he didn’t just punch Frank.

“The Punisher?” she asks as he face finally does something other than frown. “With a beard, nice,” she approves with a twist of her lips. “And uh, how do you two know each other?” she asks with a quick gesture to both of them. “Ohh, wait, Karen Page.”

“What makes you say that?” Red asks defensively from her side, making Frank roll his eyes as he moves closer to them.

“Uh, PI?” Jessica gestures towards herself. “You know Trish? After last year, she looked up Karen. 'Ally in media' or something, I don’t know,” she gives mocking airquotes, shaking her head like she’s bored as fuck. “They do…things. Shopping, coffee, I think. Nothing that involves a bar.”

“They’re friends.” Frank clarifies, making them both turn to him.

“Right, that,” Jessica accepts with distaste. “Anyway, Trish likes to think I care and will tell me stuff as if I do. She’s pretty sure Punisher here,” she points at Frank “And Miss Page are together, and that you,” she turns herself towards Murdock again “And Miss Page used to be together, or something. She told me something Karen said about you and her but yeah, I don’t care.” She shrugs as she puts her hands in her jacket pockets.

“I’m also his lawyer.” Murdock pipes up with the same defensive bullshit. Frank wants to laugh again. He’s starting to wish he could be there for Karen explain their relationship to Murdock with how pathetic he’s being. Maybe it’s because he at least landed a kick on him, but Frank finds himself relaxing again, Murdock’s discomfort feeding that need inside him instead.

“I have same lawyer as The Punisher? That’s…weird.” Jessica screws her nose up.

“Foggy’s my lawyer.” Frank says, just to be an asshole, just to push Murdock more.

“Foggy? You...you call him Foggy?” Red questions with his hands on his hips as he shuffles uncomfortably. Frank bites down a grin. It’s like watching Red become Matt Murdock. He may as well be in a suit and tie.

“What else would I call him?" Frank asks with a shrug. "You’ve been gone a long time, Red. A lot’s changed.”

“For god’s sake, is this a bro-down or something equally as stupid?” Jessica huffs looking back and forth at them. “And over Franklin Nelson? He seems like an alright guy and everything but Page is clearly hotter.” She adds with a curl of her lip. Frank agrees with her, it is fucking stupid, but watching Murdock trying not to have a damn tantrum as he realises how much really has changed is almost as satisfying as kicking him in the gut.

“I’m with you on that but I’d say not to voice that in front of Marci,” Frank suggests casually, adding to the familiarity of Murdock’s people. It’s getting to him as much as anything else Frank has said to him. He won’t betray Karen by using their relationship as a bragging point, but he will talk about Foggy and Marci. “She can be kind of viciously protective over her uh, ‘Foggybear’.” He adds with a heavy frown. The way Red bows his head and his chest expands with a deep breath is worth the discomfort of the words.

“Oh god.” Jessica groans.

“Jessica, this is a private matter,” Red says, turning his head towards her. “If you could –“

“Yeah, that you’re having out in the open public,” Jessica points out. “Sorry, people like, expect me to do…good, or something, now,” she shakes her head, one shoulder raising in a shrug. “You’re one of them, actually,” she says looking at Red who bows his head again. “So…”

“Got places to be anyway,” Frank announces as he takes a step back. “See you around, Red.” He calls, walking away. The night may not have given him what he was looking for, but he got something, for sure.

“Say hey to Page for me,” Jessica says to his back without any real enthusiasm, as if she just wants the last word. Frank let’s her have it, happy for the choice when she shifts to Murdock instead. “Whatever that was, it was pathetic to watch,” he hears her say before he’s cleared of the roof. “Like truly, just pathetic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for all reads, kudos and comments, especially to those who continually comment. I'm grateful :)
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this and the following Chapter are to me, the main ones. They are what I based the idea of this part of the Series on and what I wanted to explore. I'll post the other Chapter tomorrow. I don't want to leave more than a day between them. And I'll post an ending Author's Note after that one too, to further explain my thinking.
> 
> I hope you all like it :)

Karen comes back early in the morning, just before 5AM when he’s gulping down some coffee and contemplating ice for Red’s work and he isn’t sure what the hell he’s thinking anymore. He’s exhausted but sleeping means waking up without her. Even with how tired and done he is, he can’t stop his mind whirling away with all the crap from the past week, he can’t shut it down. He waits as she comes in, not moving from his place at the kitchen island. He’s aware it’s like some sad repeat of the start of the week and he wants to try something different, something that isn’t going to lead to more and more goddamn circles of it all getting worse. So he waits where he is. She stops as soon as she sees him, her eyes roaming over his face with worry.

“I’m okay.” He assures her when he sees her take a quick breath, because he knows that’s her upset and concerned, about him. He puts his cup down.

“You went out last night? I didn’t…” she briefly breaks their eye contact, shaking her head. “I didn’t get any reports.” She says.

Frank figures that’s a good thing at least, presumably meaning nobody saw some showdown with the three of them. But it means he has to be the one to tell her. Frank lets out something of a painful sigh as he leans on the island counter and tries to be grateful at least it's not Red telling her, making out Frank's the asshole of the night.

“I’m gonna tell you now, and before he tells you, but Murdock and I…kinda got into it.” He says unsure, worried about how she’s going to react.

“Matt did that to you?” she asks with some disbelief as she takes a couple of careful steps further into the living room, not taking her eyes away from him. Frank remembers she has no idea what Murdock is capable of, that she has a built up, shiny image of who he is as much as Murdock has of her.

“Hey, I got a hit in too.” He quietly attempts to joke, but he becomes serious again immediately when she frowns at him. “It wasn’t really a big thing. Jessica Jones decided to get herself involved before much happened.” He adds quietly with his own frown, knowing it's going to piss her off. He’s avoided the merry band of Defenders for months, even with Karen having contact. 10 minutes around Red fucks all that up like everything else.

“Frank.” She sighs wearily like he’s just given her this huge problem. She takes off her purse from her shoulder and walks towards the table, placing her purse on one of the chairs, following with shrugging out of her coat and draping it over the same chair.

“Karen, it’s not just about you. I know he’s your…your friend,” he says with some difficulty as he stands up right, making his way across the room towards her. “And I’m sorry, if it upsets you, I am, but I have history with him already. It wasn’t the first time shit went down with him, you know that. But it’s…” he sighs “It’s shit just between me and him too. From before you and I…before we ever really met.” He tries to explain, making his case, moving until he’s standing next to her. He’s pissed he suddenly knows all this shit about Murdock that Karen doesn’t.

“I suppose that’s fair,” She accepts quietly. “Is this always going to a thing I need to deal with it?” she asks him. He lets out a breath, staring at her. Simple as that, a question that signifies their future is still there for her. He wonders if while he was losing his shit, she ever considered their future was debatable.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I’d bet that wasn’t the last time.” He tilts his head. She nods as she looks down at the table, tucking her hair behind her ear as it falls forward. He watches her reach out and finger the flowers he’s left on the table, a smile lighting her face as she touches the hyacinths.

“How are you?” He asks her, trying to catch her eye.

“Been better.” She says with a sad smile as she looks back at him, letting her hand drop away and gripping the back of the chair in front of her instead.

“Yeah,” he nods, raising and lowering his eyebrows in understanding.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come home, last night,” she apologises, pressing and rubbing her lips together. “Foggy,” she pauses, shaking her head with a smile. “He kind of took my phone hostage.” She lets out a quiet chuckle, swallowing it with some awkwardness as she looks away again.

He doesn’t say anything as he stands next to her, side on as she’s still in front of the chair. He missed her, misses her. He feels fucking exhausted, drained and sore, but he can feel that warmth spreading through him, balancing him out, just because she’s here. Maybe he’s just as pathetic as Red is. He isn’t sure he gives a shit if this is why though.

“I need to get ready for work.” She whispers, but she doesn’t move away.

“Karen,” he says, reaching out to take her hand from the back of the chair. Her eyes fall closed as he clasps her hand in his. He squeezes it before he tugs her towards him, closing the last distance left. He sinks his head against the curve of her neck, causing her to fully turn to face him. He feels rest, just like this. And it’s silent, but it’s okay. Better than okay, it’s good. He’s okay, he's good.

Karen sighs against him, her body leaning into his now. Her hair tickles him as she turns her head, briefly touching his.

“I’m not leaving. I’m not…I’m not going anywhere,” He says against her skin. She makes this noise that sounds like a stifled cry. He lifts his head, making his way along her collarbone and up her neck. “I’m not leaving, Karen,” he repeats against her ear. “I’m…” he lets out a short chuckle, exhaling his breath against her skin that he feels her reacting to. Her body raises up, her head tilting to give him more room. “I’m right here.” He promises with the words that have always been a profession of love for them. He’s properly said it now, in a way so fucking far from perfect, in a way he never expected, never wanted, but he has said it, and he doesn’t regret it. The familiar phrase has her clutching at his side. He dips his head again and kisses her neck, going back up again with presses of his lips beneath her ear. The grip at his side tightens.

“Frank, this isn’t, we can’t.” she whimpers.

“It’s not how we fix things, I know. I just…I miss you. I fucking miss you," he says. "And I’m going out of my mind without you. Don’t worry, we’ve never just been this, Karen. Relax. Just relax.” he whispers against her ear.

An intense relief runs through him when she does just that, going loose in his arms and tilting her head for him. Frank rests his head against her temple, hearing and feeling her sigh. Their equal height gives him that comfort that it always does. An equalness he can surrender to, and just be in. It’s even sometimes better like this, when she’s still in her heels and the is barest taller than him and he gets to feel like she's enveloping him. It shouldn't affect him so much, shouldn't turn him into such a damn state to be without her for such a short amount of time, but it does, and the way he feels when her surrender to them turns to pulling him against her, into wanting him, wanting them, as much as he does, he isn't sure he cares how much it affects him because he wants this. He could do without the spiralling to low and back to high of this week, all of it reminding him too much of that first year they knew each other, when everything was chaos and wrong and every time he thought he'd figured out what to do next and completed the task, shit started all over again and he still hadn't finished. But he wonders if maybe the high is so good because it has the power to dismantle him so much, to break him as much as make him. He's reached the point where he welcomes it instead of running away from it, even if the loss of it would mean the ruin of him.

He knows will never be good enough for her, but as long as she chooses this, him, and as long as she wants him around, he will be stay, because it all makes him feel like he’s good enough for her, because he feels right for her. There’s so much he can’t give her, so he will concede this power to her. He trusts her with it.

It feels more right than anything else.

Karen curls her arm around and up his back until she’s anchoring him to her, running her fingers up his neck and through the ends of his hair. She tugs a handful of strands, directing his head until her mouth his finally – fucking finally – on his. The relief turns into something burning and hot through his body instead and it's need, need, need as he grips her hips, yanks her in further. She moans at the contact, their height again making things perfect when they meet together where they need it. Her left hand touches his face, her thumb touching the edge of both their lips as they kiss because Karen likes to feel her way through everything, is handsy as fuck when they kiss. He starts tugging up her skirt, the material bunching until he gets the thing around her waist and he can touch skin.

Her hand at the base of his neck pushes against his shoulder as she helps herself jump, wrapping her legs around his waist. He shoves the chairs, hearing the scrap of them against the floor through Karen’s breathing. He thinks they’re going to fuck on the table and has this fleeting thought about a combined smell of hyacinths and Karen Page but Karen doesn’t let go when he starts lowering her down on the surface. She pulls back only to press her lips against his again. “Bed,” she says between more kisses, never quite fully separating from him. “Bed, our bed.” She pants.

 

Frank used to go months without sex and it never bothered him much. Some of the other guys, Billy included, would hook up with locals depending on where the hell they were based and how much downtime they had. He’d put up with the talk of needing a fuck, the sexist bullshit, some of them talking about their other halves back home – it was all just noise to Frank, none of it mattered either way. It didn’t represent his life, he wasn’t interested in that talk but most of it just floated right past him. He'd judge some of them as guys whose balls hadn't dropped enough for them to realise one woman was where real satisfaction lay.

At his centre, he’s a simple person. He’s sure a shrink would try to say otherwise, that he’s complex as fuck, that there’s layers there, but he’s always reacted to base-level shit more than most. His sense of values comes down to right and wrong, and not much in between. If you’re gonna do something, you fucking do it. Food, sleep, violence, simple shit that can either be enough to sustain everything inside him, or mundane as hell. If it was quality, it didn't matter much. He never realised how much he didn't miss sex until David asked him about it.

He was content with his sex life. He didn’t find it boring – he liked the predictability of it sometimes. There was stability in that part of it, a reflection of normality that he wanted – that he wanted to want. Married for years, family down the hall , a tiredness that would last for days sometimes when he got home, but there was satisfaction even in the obstruction of sex, a comfort in what that presented, a life he was so goddamn proud of. Even coming home to changes of each other’s bodies. A change of shape, a new scar, a different soap, a fucking haircut. He tried to see it like learning each other over and over again. Hearing the gripping and the jokes from those in his unit, he felt so goddamn lucky that he and his wife still wanted each other, that he still thought she was the best thing he’d ever laid his eyes on. And each first time he and Maria had sex after he came home, it was one of those moments where he did feel home, where the conflict of where he was supposed to be, in war or in family home house – that first time would block out the other side of the argument, of him, and make him feel surely he was home, this was it. It blocked out everything else.

So when it felt like the end, in that damn bunker, he thought about it. Because that was home, surely. Except it didn't last, because the other side got in, the blood got in, the rest of him got in. Everything else was darkened out but it was still all there, like it always had been, like it always would be. What he thought was home wasn't enough. Home was something else.

It’s different the first time with Karen after a week of being without her and even now he can hear everybody else in his head, that he’s moved on, that Karen is his second choice, that every fucker knew how much he loved his wife and how he’d spend days with their family, when he realises over and over that there’s no one in the world who gets how much he thinks of Karen Page, how much she can affect him. It’s different.

It was so clear what he had to do next when he lost his family. Simple. Kill them all, every one who had a part of it. It was clear, his thoughts focusing perfectly. He didn’t lose his mind, didn’t go back and forth on what to do. He knew. The only factor that made ever him question any of it was Karen. But the last few days, thinking he could lose her, Frank has been going out of his damn mind. Around in circles, pulled in different directions, fucking tantrums, male ego bullshit, a mess.

Being inside Karen isn’t the comfort of familiarity. It’s not the pretence of normality that cloaks him from all his twistedness, it isn’t hiding away from everything else he is. It’s different. And he can’t figure out what it is because it’s so beyond what he understands, has ever understood. Because as she stares back at him as he rocks his hips he knows she sees him, everything he is. Not just here, not just who he is in this bed, in this apartment, but all of it. And when she says his name it’s affirmation in a way he’s never had before, that tops hitting a target like he was born to do, some absolute acknowledgement and acceptance of what he is. In every way she says it, in a pant as they move together, in a breathy sigh barely uttered from her lips, in a moan when he shows how much he knows her body, and in the way she cries it when she comes, in the gasp when he comes inside her, in the giggle in the aftermath. His name. And it’s so fucking powerful for him because no one else has ever known him like she does. He was either Frank Castle, Marine and husband and father, or The Punisher, killer and nutjob. He was either all the good human life could be, or inhuman and evil. He’s whole with her. It doesn’t shut everything out, being with her amplifies everything instead, and makes it okay. She’s clear, sharp and alive, and everything else is blurry and muted, but it’s all still there. His entire goddamn existence, with Karen Page calling his name at the centre.

Frank doesn't have to worry about blood that's all over him getting on her dress, and ruining the image of them as everything else seeps in, because it's already on her blouse. Some of it's his. Because she was there through it, with him. There isn't anything he needs to keep out while she's there.

It's the simplest thing he knows because it is that definitive, but unlike those other things like food or violence that are basic and he can go without for a while, being with her, loving her, combines everything of what he feels, what he knows. None of it feels fleeting, or distracting. It grounds everything and for the first time in his life, he doesn’t feel like really it’s just him standing there alone when it comes down to it.

And she always goes the extra because even though she’s the only one who gets it, all of it, who sees exactly who and what he is, she’s also the one who has screamed his name to the world with every power and platform she could, defended his name, been proud to write in an article, say it on the radio. She never gave up on him, never stopped believing in him, never stopped challenging him, never let him hide shit from her and deal with it all himself. She never accepted that it would only be grief and death that he’d feel comfortable with. There isn’t another part of him that she’s unaware of, or can’t deal with. So when she lets him love her, shows herself just as much, it’s fucking everything. She welcomes him home whether he’s got take out or a gun in his hand. She stands under a shower spray with him whether it’s to wash away sweat or blood. And he’s known she’s like that since she let him rest his bloody forehead on hers in that elevator.

He didn’t understand what being whole and free really felt until he was with her. Part of that is terrifying because he would have sworn up and down that his life was full with so much purpose, and pride before. He didn’t think there could be anything else, but there is and he found it in being with Karen Page.

He’s at home with her. It’s another thing about him that’s removed from normal, from healthy, because he's sure other people don’t feel this. He's sure because he knew he had it lucky with Maria, that most people don’t get that. So this – this is something else.

He’s at home with her, and it might be the very thing that signifies the worst of him and that turns her away from him, when nothing else has. Because Karen Page gave The Punisher a chance because she dug out the humanity in him, because she saw there was something else, his love for his family, his grief for his family. But now he’s moved on, and his wife, Christ, maybe his whole family, is second choice. And he doesn’t think he would bring them back, not to be with him, not to be a family again. He wouldn’t change that they weren’t one of the ones that got to came back like David, like Red, like Elektra, whoever the fuck she is, like Jessica Jones if what Karen's told him is true, like him, to try again, to be better with them, for them. He would give up every moment of peace, of clarity, of happiness, of life, he has to have them be alive and safe and happy again, but not to be with him, Because he’s only able to know Karen Page, to love Karen Page because he lost his family. Karen Page can only be his family because he lost his first one. And though there’s guilt, enough to swallow him maybe, it’s somehow not enough to regret it. And that surely makes him the biggest piece of shit scumbag in the whole goddamn city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, kudos and especially for comments.
> 
> Like I said, I'll post the next Chapter tomorrow with an Author's Note.
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm basically the worst person to have ever attempted time management.
> 
> Huge thank you to those who have commented on this and the previous Chapter. I'd been wanting to write these for a while now and I'm glad to finally have them done, so thank you to anyone who's connected with them :)
> 
> Further Author's Note at the end...it gets kinda long ha.

“You okay?” he asks. She’s staring at him with something of a dazed expression from across the pillow they’re sharing. He keeps up the stroking of her naked shoulder he’s been concentrating on, smoothing over freckles, soothing himself as much as her. He’s just glad she’s looking at him again, that he can see her again.

“Tired,” she says. “I didn’t get much sleep the past couple nights. Turns out I need you next to me for that.” He falters in the brush of her skin when she blinks at him.

“I know the feeling,” he agrees, thinking of the lack of sleep the past couple nights. How restless, and alone. Two things Frank has always been able to have control over the emotions of, until now, until her, until this thing between them. “What is it?” he when her brows crease in a frown.

“What you said the other day?” she asks quietly, taking a slow inhale of breath.

“Yeah?” He stares back at her, almost daring her to recognise his ‘I love you‘ out loud, but the way her eyes close for a second, disconnecting their eye contact, shows him that’s not what she’s going to say, though she is thinking about it and she knows he is too.

“About not…” Karen clears her throat. “About not knowing who you are without me.” She finishes looking at him again.

“Hm?” he grunts.

“Do you think maybe…do you think maybe I’m – we’re – not what’s best for you?” She asks, the furrow of her eyebrows back, deeper. He stops his attention of her shoulder, taking his hand back into his own space, he turns onto his back. He lets out a sigh as he tips his head against his own pillow. He’s wondering if she can read that much of his mind, or if she’s just going over their argument. He takes the time to not react badly, not knowing if this is her pushing him away again and nothing has been solved, or something else. He feels heavy again, pressure against his body.

“No, I don’t think that,” he says as he turns his head to look at her again, figuring being as direct as he can be is the best way to go, to be blunt about what he wants. “You wanted an after for me, yeah? Karen, I wake up glad I’m alive,” he shrugs, looking at the ceiling. “I have…fuck, I have friends, some of them I made since everything happened,” he turns to her again and unlike him, she hasn’t moved. “And you…our relationship… I’m happy. I don’t know what else you could have wanted for me. ‘Cause this? It’s so fucking far from what I ever thought. I’m not Matt Murdock,” he shifts closer to her. “I’m not pretending I’m something normal during the day. If I’m fucked, if it’s unhealthy? I don’t give a shit. I really don’t, because I’m happy. As long as you’re happy too, as long as you want this, then I don’t care,” he says as he searches her face. “You are happy, right? In this?”

“Of course I am. You know I am.” She swears as she looks back at him with that look he’s always read as love. It has to be, even if she can’t say it, even if she can’t even say he’s said it. He makes her happy. That’s it, that’s the deal. That’s what he needs. The rest, that maybe she’ll question some of that love if she knows he’s maybe lost the thing that made her see value in him in the first place – he doesn’t know. Maybe he’ll go back to hiding, hiding in her. It wouldn’t be so terrible, he thinks.

“There are worse things for my sanity to be hinged on. It’s safer with you,” he says. Karen's eyes tear up as reaches across his chest and grips at his side, tugging him to turn onto his side again. He takes her hand as he does, lacing their fingers and laying them on the sheet in the space between them. “You’ve always called my ass out when you think I’m wrong.” He adds. She stays silent, staring at their hands, and Frank hopes she doesn’t fight this more because he isn’t sure how else to explain to her that he’s just fine with her having that much power over him, and even what it may mean outside of them. He really doesn’t give a fuck.

“I haven’t seen Matt yet,” she says quietly, still set on their joined hands. “If you’re worried about that.” She turns her eyes on him again, waiting.

“You haven’t?” he question, not sure about what else to say. She shakes her head, her hair fluffing against the pillow.

“He’s called a couple times but I…” she exhales a sigh, staring at their hands again. He brushes his thumb over hers, watching her lips tighten when he does, knowing it means she’s upset.

“So you decided to go with avoiding everything, huh?” he says with a smirk, trying to lighten things. Her eyes turn back to him and as he knew, they’re teary, but she lets out a laugh when she realises he’s teasing.

“I guess so,” she sniffs, bringing her other hand up and wiping at her cheeks and mouth. “Foggy came to the paper yesterday, and on Thursday.” she explains, and suddenly everything he didn’t know and assumed about this week starts falling into place more. He nods.

“How’s he handling the great return?” he says with some attitude. Karen ignores it but for the brief knitting of her eyebrows.

“Better than me. You know Foggy, heart’s always on his sleeve.” She smiles. “He’s alternating between frustrated rants and sad laments. But he has seen Matt. It’s different for them though, they’ve been best friends since college.”

“But you and Murdock…you were close too.” He says, and he the way she looks at him makes him wonder how his voice sounded to her compared to his own ears. He looks back at her as she stares at him, quiet as her eyes roam over his face until she falls back to where her eyes keep tracking back to, their hands that are still held together. She blinks her eyes wide when she meets his again.

“I didn’t love Matt the way you loved Maria.” she says, not looking away from him. He feels this tightening inside him again, a knot that makes his breathing grow heavier. He tries to control it by keeping their connection, now being the one not to look away.

“Even if you did, Karen, I have no right to say anything about it.” He acknowledges, trying to be fair, trying to be good, for her, to her, and trying to get out of this conversation.

“You do, Frank,” she insists, with more force than he’s expecting. “We’re…” she trails off and lets out a frustrated sigh, closing her eyes for a second. “Or even if you shouldn’t, I want you to,” she encourages, meeting his eyes again. “I want you to be honest with me. Please, don’t stop being honest with me.” She says, taking a shaky breath. He focuses on a tear that’s pooling at the corner of her eye, threatening to fall. All the pressure he felt releases, but the knot inside changes for something else, something heavier. He can’t ignore it anymore, he can’t hide it. And he feels like an asshole for even thinking he could with her, as if he’s tainted something of them.

“I…I didn’t love Maria the way I love you.” He says, feeling this bubble of air impact in his lungs. He thinks maybe his body jerked, he isn’t sure, but his breathing is coming in deep points, air exhaling through his nose.

“Frank.” Karen whispers and the tear falls, he watches it run over her face until it hits the pillow. He moves forward, lying back on the same pillow as her, needing to be close again when there’s a whispering in his mind that it won’t be any of the shit that happened this week that will drive her away, no one will take her away from him – she’ll walk away, because, of all things, she’ll be disappointed in him. Not because he people and doesn’t regret it, but because he loves her, and even with what it may mean, he can’t regret it.

“It’s true. It’s…different. I’m different.” He says.

“Of course you’re different,” she sniffs, wetting her lips. “Losing your family destroyed you.” Her eyebrows sit high on her forehead as she looks at him, trying to explain away what he just said, but he can’t do that.

“Or it set me free.” He counters in scratchy whisper, his own tears blurring his eyes and it pisses him off because it blocks his view of her and he can’t do this if she’s not right there, right here.

“You don’t believe that.” She says, shaking her head and he wonders which one of them she’s trying to convince.

“I don’t know what I believe anymore, Karen. What if…” he stops, taking a slow inhale of breath so he can try again. “I’m not David either, alright? Just going back to how things were… I would do anything to change what…what happened – to keep them safe. But to go back? Go back to what? To being an absent husband, emotionally half the time as much physically. To explain to them that I’m more of a killer than they already knew? What happened to them was my fault.”

“Frank.” Karen tries to interject, he knows to argue his case, as always. She’s never stopped. But he can’t let her right now, because she may be his biggest defender, his biggest supporter, but he’s right about this.

“It was, Karen,” he repeats. “I get I didn’t pull the trigger, not that time, but what happened was because of me, because of my choices. What I did with my life, what I didn’t walk away from, the people I trusted – trusted with them. That was me. Because I needed that other part of my life, I couldn’t walk away from it. When I finally did…it was too late. And I don’t even think I would have stayed away. I would have gone back. I was always a better Marine than I was a husband, a better killer than a father.” he says, leaning forward and keeping eye contact, to make his point, to be honest with her. “They were better off without me. I meant it then and I mean it now.”

“Please stop punishing yourself.” She whispers, tears running again.

“I’m not,” he says. “If I was I wouldn’t let myself be here,” he grips her hand in his, eyeing them on the mattress, fitting together so damn easily. He swallows, his eyes flicking back to hers, aware she's another thing he can't walk away from, couldn't stay away from. “But I know what’s fucking real, Karen. That’s how it is. And I don’t…” He trails off, screwing his eyes closed and gripping her hand even tighter, trying to find strength in her. “It’s just different with you. I can’t even… I didn’t tell Maria things, about what I’d done, how I was, away on tour. I didn’t want her to know. I wanted to protect them from all that shit. I wanted to be just there, with them.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she asks, the obvious upset making him open his eyes and look at her again. She looks so worried, about him. So looks so hurt, for him.

“Maybe nothing," he says, wondering if she realises that's probably Murdock's justification for lying to her too. "But I never held anything back with you, not since I met you,” he says honestly. “You know the worst of me, and I’m glad for it. Fuck, you’ve been there for some of it. And I’m happy about it, Karen, about you knowing that. You let me put a gun to your head to help me, for Christ sake. I don’t know what that is, I can’t think of how that’s supposed to be described as, because it’s not like anything else. After everything I’ve done and you know I’ve done and we’re…you’re here.” He breathes, his eyes searching her face, as if to memorise it but he knows every damn pore, every expression she makes. As if he could forget.

“I’ve done things too, Frank.” She says, referring to the things she's only ever told him about.

“I know you have, but doesn’t that just add to the damn point?” he says with a sad smile, a quiet chuckle. He watches her swallow. “This is…you’re…” he tilts his face towards the pillow, feeling how damp it is from his own tears. What if she hates him? Worse, what if it makes her criticise herself? “I want to be here, with you. This is the only fucking place I want to be,” he says as he faces her again. “What if I hadn’t met you? Hadn’t known you? If I had to choose where I…who I…” That bubble pops in his chest again, a cry that he blocks, sole tears running down his face as suddenly he feels more in charge again, if more hollow too.

“You don’t have to choose, Frank. It wasn’t a choice.” She tries to reassure him, but all he feels is the loss of her hand from his as she pushes herself up, using her hand to cover herself with the sheet instead, holding it over her chest.

“I already made it.” He says quietly, staying where he is. He feels calmer, his emotions dying down while hers ramp up, always the goddamn ying to his yang, balancing everything. He lets out a tiny scoff.

“What? I don’t…” she looks down at him with confusion. “All this because Matt is back?” she asks with incredulous, and some panic.

“It’s not just him. Other people coming back, second chances…” he trails off, not really wanting to talk about it. They aren’t the point. “If I had a choice –“

“But you don’t! You didn’t!” she cries, cutting him off. Her eyes are wide as she continues to stare down at him as she half-lies at an angle, leaning on one hand while the other is fisting the sheets still held to her. Frank isn’t sure what she is so worried about. His criticism of himself, if maybe she sees it as him going backwards. Or if she knows her opinion of him is going to change and they may lose their relationship because of it. “Frank.” She utters with desperation, a plead. His name. Said with trust, and belief that he can and will fix this, will make some kind of sense out of it.

He rolls over onto his back, scrubbing at his face, before he sits up, shoving the pillow behind him and leaning back against it as it rests against the headboard. He meets her eyes again as she waits for him.

“I don’t know if it was real,” he starts. “Asshole superheroes coming back from the dead, who the fuck knows what’s real anymore.” He looks down at his lap. “When Agent Orange and I fought, and my heart stopped…I saw Maria,” he briefly lifts his eyeline to look at her, but she’s still waiting, giving her attention. “She asked me to go with her, said…said it was time to go home,” he stops when Karen looks away, dropping her head forward. He tilts his head, watching her, hearing her take a shaky breath. “I didn’t go,” he continues, meeting her eyes when she her head again. “I told her…I told her I already was home. I didn’t want to go with her. It wasn’t right. I wanted something else, I wanted…” he gives a brief smile. “I wanted an after.” He sniffs, shifting on the bed. “Now either that was real and that’s what I did, that’s what I chose…or it was all in my head and that’s how I see it, because it was my fucking head. I already made the choice. And I don’t… Karen, I don’t regret it.” Not since he stayed that first night with her. He makes that same choice every day he wakes up, and every night he goes to sleep ready do it again.

She stares back at him, with wide and teary eyes before lowering her head as she adjusts the hand holding the sheet. Bringing her hand to her face, she uses her arm to keep the sheet to her. Frank watches her cover her nose and mouth with her fingers flat as she tries not to cry. He wants to reach out for her but he feels stuck as he waits for her reaction, if after everything, she’ll finally judge him. She sniffs and turns her head into her shoulder, dropping her hand to the bottom of her neck as she composes herself. He sees the switch in her, her determination, some decision she’s settled on, that she’ll give herself too.

She turns, away from him, shifting around on the bed and reaching for his discarded t-shirt. She puts it over her head, her hair catching underneath it. When she pushes the sheets fully away from herself and gets out of the bed and all he can see is the back of her, Frank feels his flight or fight instinct kicking in, it’s that immediate. Panic.

“Karen.” He calls, finally sitting the properly hell up and going to move, after her.

“Hold on.” She says calmly and it shuts down the panic, it instantly dying down in him, leaving confusion that furthers when she goes for the closest door instead of the bedroom out.

He frowns, adjusting the sheets on his lap and leaning back again as he watches her go inside the closet and reach up to where he can’t see from the bed. He hears rummaging as she shifts things. His eyes track to the way the t-shirt rides up as she stretches up on her tip-toes, showing more of her. He blinks it away when the skin is covered again as she drops to the balls of her feet and turns around. Instead his eyes go to whatever she’s holding. He can’t tell what it is with the way her hands deliberately cover it. It’s black, and flat enough that she holds it almost protectively against her.

Karen hesitates in a way he’s not used to, half-turning back towards the closet as if she’s going to change her mind. It’s worse when she can barely look at him, connecting eye contact before quickly turning away again. Then she stills, letting out a slow breath before pressing her lips together as she seems to stare at nothing at the bottom of the bed. He doesn’t move as she walks back around to the side of the bed, keeping her head down. She hovers for another second before climbing on the bed. He tries to keep his eyes on her face, trying to get her to look at him, trying to read her, but the way she sits on her knees before dropping down with her legs folded underneath puts what she’s got in her hands in a new light. It sits against her thighs now. Her hands still cover a lot of it but with how close he is he can see it now. The back of it, at least. He stares at it with a heavy frown, gritting his teeth, tensing his jaw before trying to calm down, swallowing it back.

He looks up at her, waits. It seems to be what she’s looking for because after a second of staring into her eyes she lifts the object from her lap, turning it over and holding it out to him.

“How…how do you have that?” he asks with shallow breath as he stares at the picture. It’s back in its original frame. He stares at it, but he can’t take it from her.

“We were your representation. Without a next of kin, we got your personal belongings. I figured I did a lot to get this the first time, I may as well keep it.” She says with a quiet laugh, something sweet that allows him to stop staring at the thing and break away to look at her. He’s sure that’s still love on her face. She wets her lips, running her teeth over the bottom one. He still doesn’t take the picture from her and she seems to get he’s not going to as she sets it back to her lap again, face up this time. Frank can see the colours but deliberately doesn't focus on anything.

“You loved your family, Frank.” She says with a catch in her voice, but still that confidence . “And they loved you. And you were happy. No marriage, no mom or dad, is perfect.”

“Maria was,” he argues without thinking about it. “She did everything when I wasn’t there. And then helped fix it when I fucked it up when I was there. When I couldn’t…” he brings his hand up and wipes at his face when he trails off.

“This was your life, Frank,” she says gently. “You lived it and it’s yours. You don’t have to choose. I don’t want you to. You don’t have to.” She repeats with a shake of her head.

“You shouldn’t have to talk me through this.” He says with a frown as he lowers his head, keeping his eyeline on the sheets in front of him.

“Why not? I kinda always have, right?” the smile in her voice makes him look up at her. “It’s not like you don’t talk to me about them. I don’t mind. I don’t want you to forget them.” She continues to try to reach him, but he can’t. say anything, his mind churning too much. “I have trouble with it too, sometimes,” she says after a moment of silence. “With being…happy, with you. Appreciating that we got this chance to be together, and knowing it’s only possible because someone else lost it.” She says, her thumb pressing against the corner of the picture frame that’s still in her grasp, resting on her lap. She is by the far the most compassionate person he’s ever met. How does someone like him end up with someone like that? She really is the other half of him, being all the good, all the empathy, the reasoning he can’t be.

“Yeah?” he asks, turning to her briefly before looking away and staring in front of him again.

“Of course,” she says, letting him react how he wants. “Feeling both grateful and lucky to be with you, but so heartbroken for you? Wishing that hadn’t happened to you, to them, while also wanting to be with you? It’s not easy.” Frank sees her dip her head in his peripheral vision.

“So how do you? Accept both?” he asks.

“The truth. I remember…what’s real.”

“Journalist motto?” he says with an upturn of his lips.

“Reporter.” She automatically corrects, making his smile bigger. “And I guess so, yeah.” She says with some surprise. Frank looks at her, tracing over her face while he thinks about the fact that it’s not a learned code of ethics or practice that drives her, it’s just what she believes in. It’s her way of doing what’s right. His sanity may be wrapped up in her, but her own comes down to her contribution of what she can give to the world. She probably didn’t count of one of those things being taming The Punisher through understanding and acceptance.

“So what’s the truth?” he sighs as he shifts, tipping his head back against the headboard and looking at Karen.

“That you loved them.” She says simply, meeting his eyes. “That you were happy. That you would have done anything for them. And you were loyal to them. It was your life, and it’s still yours. Nobody gets to take that away from you, or change it, no matter what.”

“Karen –“

“Maybe things…with us, are different,” she talks over him, still trying. “But that’s…maybe that’s okay.” She subtly shrugs. “I don’t want to replace her.”

“You’re not a replacement.” He says quickly, almost snapping, still hearing everybody else and their assumptions about her and them.

“Right, no,” she frowns and lowers her hand, cutting herself off from him as she stares down at her lap. “I know that. I know I can’t give you…” she trails off, her shoulders tensing as she keeps her head bowed. “I just meant…” It’s rare he and Karen misunderstand each other. This week aside, when they actually say shit, often even when they don’t say anything, they get what the other is doing, where they’re coming from. And to misunderstand him now, after everything he’s said about what she means, where he’s placing her in regards to everyone else, it’s frustrating as fuck. He hears Curtis going on about insecurities in his head. He lets out a heavy breath through his nose.

“I mean _you’re_ not just a replacement,” he says slowly.” That was never why I…” he waits for her to raise her head and look at him again. “Being with you? It’s all you, it’s about you. And this, how I am with you? It’s not about anybody else.” He swears. It really never has been. Her connecting with how he felt about the loss, yes, but it was about her, about how she connected with him, and him with her. It’s always been about her.

“Okay, so, different.” She says with a quiet smile, repeating his earlier attempt at explaining. She leans to her left, uncurling her legs from underneath her and moves to sit beside him by the headboard. He stares down at the picture as she lifts it, moving towards him so it’s sitting on both their thighs. “Frank.” She encourages in a whisper. He’s having as much trouble taking it from her as the first time she gave it to him in the hospital. He’s only aware his hands are shaking when he reaches out. Using his left hand he takes the corner of the frame, grabbing Karen’s hand with his right as she lefts go of her corner. She squeezes his hand, shifting to pull her legs up against him, her body resting on his.

“I think about you both, sometimes,” he finds himself saying as he looks down at the smiling family. “Laughing, together. Happy, you know? Like maybe you’d be friends or something. That’s fucked up, ain’t it?” he turns towards Karen. “It’s fucked up.” He repeats, because surely it is. How can he have a right to think that? It’s not something that can ever be real. It doesn’t even make any sense.

“I don’t know,” Karen says honestly, her eyeline still on the frame, tilting her head closer to his. “Maybe? But I think about it too.” She adds.

“Yeah?”

“Sure. I wish I could have met her. And I wonder how she would feel about us.” She says quieter, with some worry as if she shouldn’t say it, showing what she means is she _worries_ about how Maria would have felt about them. “And Lisa and Frank Jr. I wish I could have known them.”

“Lisa would have loved you,” Frank says easily, so damn sure of it. “I mean, she…” she would have thought Karen was the best hero in the city, the important one, without any ability but brave and determined as if she did. “She was funny, you know? And smart with it. Dry, cutting humour,” Frank adds with a smile. “Damn brutal sometimes.” He chuckles, brushing his thumb over the glass.

“I wonder where she got that from.” Karen says with an obvious smile in her voice as she sinks further down and rests her head on Frank’s shoulder. She pulls her legs up and drops them against his again before placing their hands on her leg, adding her other hand on top of them.

“And Frank Jr. …I’d probably come home to find the two of you under the table or in the middle of some fort, pillows all over the place,” he says still looking the picture. “Cookie and gingersnaps crumbs everywhere, both of you trying to keep everyone safe from enemies from here to outer space.” He chuckles before taking a deep breath, feeling the tears in his eyes again. He doesn’t know how fair it is to think this shit.

“You don’t have to choose,” Karen whispers, her own tears lacing her voice. “I know it’s not…rational, and it doesn’t really work but …all of it is yours. And nothing that happens now changes what you lived, Frank.” He wants to believe her, he does. He’s trying. She lifts her right hand from their joined ones and reaches over to touch the picture still in his hands. “And even though something really bad and…horrible,” A tear falls down his face following the way her breath catches. “Happened at that carousel, it doesn’t change all those good days you had there.” She turns her face into his neck and he feels the wetness of her tears against his skin. “You don’t have to choose.” She repeats.

Frank grips her hand as he nods, trying to keep it together. She sniffs, rubbing her face against his neck before facing forward again.

“I was thinking maybe we could put this up somewhere?” she asks, smoothing her fingers against the side of the frame. He’s aware she’s been careful not to touch the glass, while he’s been touching the whole thing. “It should be…it shouldn’t be away in a box. You don’t have to forget, or give it up. Any of it.”

“After.” He finds himself muttering, seeing the image of Karen upset on a cold night, trying to tell she wants some kind of chance for him. It confused him at the time, as a possibility and concept alone, how she could believe in him that much, why she would want something good for him. Like so much of what she did, she stopped him in his tracks, making him think, seeing some other way he couldn’t have imagined before she was standing by his side offering it. Like now she listened to him talk about his family, but she never told him to give it up or tried to tell him his failings didn't exist. After. Not ‘move on’, but an after. She’s always gotten it. “Thank you, Karen.” He says, thinking how much he has to thank her for, finding some kind of satisfaction that that’s how it started with them too.

He sits there for a while, holding the picture in one hand and Karen’s hand in his other while she rests against his shoulder, trying to figure out how he puts them all together, wondering if it’s what he’s been doing this whole time anyway. It is different with Karen, but maybe she’s right and that is some kind of okay. Frank isn’t even sure if Maria would love him like this. He isn’t the man she knew, or she thought she knew. He’s freer, but he doesn’t think he’s more happy than he was. It’s just…different. And he can’t ever answer the questions of if she would have loved him like this, if maybe she was truly happy too, if she’d forgive him. He can’t know. And Frank thinks that maybe he doesn’t need those answers. Thinking about it will drive him to a new level of craziness, and he won’t do that to Karen, he just won’t. He tilts his head to look at her, knowing she’s half asleep as she leans against him still, blonde hair covering her face.

He puts the picture down on the sheets at his other side, fisting and loosening his hands as he lets it go, before shifting to turn towards Karen.

“Hey,” he whispers. She groans back at him. “Come on, lie down.” He encourages as he pushes himself up, but she tugs at his hand, her fingers still laced through his and not letting go.

“Mm, where are you going?” she asks as she leans up while also getting herself under the sheet again. He smiles at how bleary-eyed she looks.

“Putting the damn light off,” he says. “We’re getting some sleep. I’m fucking exhausted.” He moves for the switch, seeing the light of dawn outside through their heavy curtain.

“Hm, I have to go to work.” She argues, mumbling against the pillow.

“It’s a Saturday.”

“That’s not really how The Bulletin works.” She points out. “I’m behind. Couldn’t concentrate.” She adds, making Frank scoff because he gets that. He feels like he lost a whole damn week.

“Text Ellison, tell him you’re doing shit from home today.” He instructs as he grabs some sweatpants and puts them on.

“Shouldn’t.”

“He’ll grumble before letting you do what you want.” Frank says walking back to the side of the bed and picking up the frame. They both know it’s true. Ellison dotes on her. Frank’s convinced there’s no chance in hell the editor would put up with any of the others shacking up with The Punisher.

“I have to go to work.” she says again.

“No.” he argues. He’s not letting her do anything but get some sleep. She’s clearly as tired as he is.

“Bossy.” She grins, though her eyes stay closed. He takes a second to look at her.

“I’ll do it for you,” he offers as he walks towards the small table in the bedroom Karen keeps all her stuff on. He places the frame down, flat and facing up. He’s not quite ready to put it up somewhere yet, but he won’t put it away either. “Where’s your phone?”

“Living room.”

“Purse or coat?” he asks, taking another look at his family. Figures Karen would save something of them after Frank burned it all down. He can’t believe it’s been in this apartment the whole time. He knew she had his files still, but not this.

“Uh…my purse, I think?” she says. “Are you coming back?” she asks with panic as he walks out the room. When he turns around she’s leaning back up with her eyes open, blinking at him.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart.” He promises. She gives a nod as she lies back down.

He finds her phone in her purse like she thought, still placed on the chair at the table, though the chairs pushed aside. He moves things back to where they should be, twisting the vase around as well.

_Karen’s working from home today._

He texts Ellison. Then sends another.

_Thanks, boss._

Because he likes fucking with him but also in case he thinks Karen’s got herself involved in some shit and been taken hostage again. Frank wouldn’t blame him for coming to that conclusion.

He locks up and finds his own phone, seeing a group of Whatsapp messages of David.

_Did you make up yet?_  
_How about now?_  
_Spoke to Curtis. He said there’s an ex! Frank Castle jealous? Don’t get drunk and try to show him your-much-bigger-than-his-dick. I heard from a friend that ends badly._

_It’s all good, Lieberman._

He texts back, ignoring the other shit and making a note in his mind to never tell him he provoked the ex into a pissing contest fight instead. Christ.

_Stop calling Curtis._

He sends as well, wondering how much he nagged at Curtis to get the information about Murdock. Determined pain in the ass, he is.  
  
He leaves both their phones on the coffee table, deciding everything else can fuck off for the following hours.

 

“Fuck, I missed you.” He says as he tugs Karen against him once he’s back in bed.

“Frank.” She moans, practically burrowing herself into the space beside him, making him smile. He’s never met someone who communicates so much just by saying his name. He remembers the first time she said it, when she gave him the pictur, similar assurances of love for his family as she has tonight. He went from Mr Castle to Frank within the space of 10 minutes. And once she’d said it, it was like she couldn’t stop. Every time she saw him, she said it. He was so aware of it because nobody else said it like that. Like she knew him, like she cared, like she was in it with him. Red said it too, but that just dug into Frank, under the skin and wound him up. It was Red’s way of trying to force a connection, pretend he got what Frank was feeling. Obvious as shit about it, and deliberate, and fake. "May I call you Frank?", asshole. With Karen it was like she couldn’t help herself, like she wanted to say it so she was going to. There was honesty to it.

It took him longer. She was already affecting him too much, making him question what he was doing, recognising some kind of humanity still left in him, bringing out something good and protective about him again, making him want shit again, all of it interfering with the mission as it was. If he’d said her name, acknowledged out loud how much she meant – that would have been his red line he couldn’t step back from. He hadn’t been ready for that, not at first. He’s not as brave as her. She marched over her red line as soon as she saw him in that hospital and decided she wasn’t going to put up with his shit. But she helps him be brave, she helped him work up the guts to ask her to stay back then too, within a goddamn hour of knowing her, though she had to push some more to get him to start talking. She gives have strength, even some kind of faith. Red can keep his relationship with God. Karen absolves him as much as any figure in religion could, and it’s more because she doesn’t do it because he needs it, or even because he asks, but because she believes in him, and she knows him.

Rationally he understands her accepting who he is and what he does is a huge thing, but he doesn’t connect with it emotionally other than questioning if she should have something different, a simpler, prettier and more normal life. He doesn’t regret killing people the has, so the acceptance of it is something he only understands so far. But realising he wouldn’t go back, wouldn't choose his family in the decision of where he belongs, that’s something he feels guilt for, real self-hate for. For her to take it, make sense of it, understand it and absolve him - without minimising it, without pretending it doesn't exist or there's nothing fucked up about it - and be there, in it with him. It’s a real version peace, where he can just breathe her in in this bed and nothing else can really touch him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So these Chapters were really the point of this part. It was really based around two things
> 
> 1) Asshole Frank, because I think that can be a big part of his personality and I hadn't written it yet.  
> 2) More importantly, Frank trying to come to terms with having 'moved on', and what that means. When someone who has lost a spouse has a new relationship, typically they're enabled by the fact that there was no choice involved. They didn't choose someone over their spouse, so it lessens the guilt and ideas of 'betrayal'. Also, it's generally something that wasn't their fault. And there's a finality to it. It was and is something that they have no control over. There is no accountability.
> 
> However in the Marvel Universe, where people do legit come back from the dead, I thought that could make Frank confront the idea of choice. Even though he does not have one, everybody else getting those chances creates the perception of 'right, but what would you do if you did?'.
> 
> I chose this way because I think it's made clear that  
> 1) Frank is not a perfectly adjusted person who's only the way he is because he lost his family. That loss unleashed him to solely be that part of him because he lost the reason to keep it bound, but that other part has always been there. It's one of my favourite things about the portrayal, that he may have been functional, but dude's not average and normal. And for all the good intentions and love he has, he is not naturally best suited to family life. To be clear, I do not feel that diminishes his love or his loyalty to them, but it doesn't all come to him naturally. He's very flawed there. And it's a very raw sincerity that I love.  
> 2) Karen is shown to be this only exception for Frank, over and over. She is compared to pretty much everybody else and every time she ticks something no one else does, he reacts to her in a way he doesn't to anybody else. He cares about what she thinks of him, he asks her to stay, he changes his plan because she suggests something else, he protects her, he goes to her for help, he jokes with her, he trusts her, he closes his eyes and hugs her/touches her, he's honest with her, he risks exposure for her. And each time it is in contrast to not doing those things with other people, each time what they do is something he doesn't do with other people. Straight up. Matt lecturing Frank he shot up a hospital and him not caring compared to telling Karen she was safe. Madani and Karen being in the way of his mission and telling Karen she was never in any danger compared to telling Madani to stay out of his way. Getting defensive about the hipster joke compared to teasing with Karen. Asking Curtis twice if he's sure he didn't tell anyone about him compared to Karen not even needing to finish her sentence that she would never tell anyone. Telling Matt the good stories compared to being open about the good and the bad ones with Karen. It taking forever for Micro to convince Frank to work together compared to looking in awe at Karen telling him he hasn't [worked] with her. Billy and Curtis talking about how he didn't want any help, compared to him literally asking Karen to help him. Maria asking him to come home compared to Karen telling him to go. Being the only physical contact that he doesn't pull back from first. It's established over and over that it is just her, that it is different with her, for whatever reason.
> 
> Matt's return is an obvious plot point and one which I thought would push Frank into that headspace of questioning. I'm also endlessly fascinated by the parallels and repeated themes that continue with the Frank, Karen, Matt, Elektra group, and that starts really early on but is made especially clear the second they go see Frank in hospital. Matt foreshadows his and Karen's break up when they're there, telling her they have to be careful and are on shaky ground. The shot of their hands parting to show Frank between them. Then Karen charging over the red line, Matt trying to haul her back but her only doing so when she decides to. Followed by a night of Frank and Karen talking honestly and emotionally in a quiet, sterile room with paper coffee cups while Matt and Elektra are in fancy outfits, drinking champagne and pretending to be something they're not as they fleece people. And those comparisons never stops. Not to get into other ships here, but and Matt and Karen want to have that normal, wholesome relationship with each other, but there's another part of them they don't share. And Matt chooses to die with his love, while Frank chooses not to.
> 
> So for this last main fic of the Series, I really wanted to explore that. I hope I didn't a semi-decent job.
> 
> There will be another maybe 3 Chapters? And I want to try to give everyone as much resolution as possible, so Matt's not done yet.
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the wait on this one.

He sleeps for what feels like a good few hours before waking up again. Karen’s still asleep next to him when he does and Frank finds himself watching her, working himself up that maybe she’ll wake up and things won’t be better.

“Hey.” She smiles at him when she opens her eyes.

“Hey.” He says quietly, just watching her, giving her the time properly wake up in case she’s forgotten, in case she’s still upset with him, in case she’ll remember and stop looking at him again, in case she'll turn away from him again.

“What is it?” she asks, her eyebrows lower in question. “Frank?” she says when he doesn’t say anything.

“You wouldn’t look at me.” He says, watching the expression on her face .

“What?” she asks with a deeper frown, trying to understand. Karen's someone who's alert pretty quickly after waking up, like him, but he's noticed the longer they've been together, the longer she now takes to blink away all sleep. And he knows it's because she feels more settled, safer, when she sleeps now. He knows because he's the same, and the last days without have sat heavy, the difference had him drained and edgy.

“This week, since Murdock came back. You wouldn’t look at me,” he explains. “It’s…it’s fuckin’ stupid, I know,” he rubs his chin against the pillow. “But I couldn’t…I couldn’t reach you. You cut yourself off from me and it was… it was like I was losing you.”

She sighs, bringing her hand to her head and wiping at her eyes before running her fingers through her hair.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just needed –“

“Time, I know.” He interrupts,

“Those were Foggy’s words, not mine.” She quietly argues with a gentle smile.

“Alright,” he sniffs and turns onto his back, sitting up against the pillow. “So what did you need?” he questions as he faces her.

“I don’t know,” she presses her lips together, biting her bottom one as she thinks. “But I didn’t…I didn’t mean to shut you out. Why didn’t you just say something? Instead of being an asshole?”

“Like you weren’t trying to push me out the door yesterday because you're afraid I’d walk out of it myself?” he points out. She frowns at him, a slight pout on her face. “I’m not going to leave, Karen.”

“It’s something I fear, not something I expect.” She says quietly, carefully, turning her eyes up to him as she pulls the sheets against her, fisting the material under her neck.

“Is that what’s holding you back with Murdock too?” he asks, deciding not to push on those more right now. He clearly needs to find a new way to say it, to convince her he sure as hell isn't going anywhere she's not. “In case he’s not sticking around?”

“Not totally that.” She says without giving anything further.

“You should see him, talk to him.” He suggests.

“You Team Matt now?” she with raised eyebrows.

“Fuck no.” he snorts. “I’m uhm…I’m Team Karen.” He deadpans. She bites down a grin before she can’t help but laugh. He smirks himself, just fucking glad she’s smiling.

“Oh yeah? So what does that mean?” she asks looking up at him with her face bright.

“Pretty much comes down to keeping that smile on your face,” He nods at her. “Occasional beat down of whatever piece of shit decides to come after you. Maybe hitting Red in the face a few times.” He adds with a tilt of his head.

“How many times you both fought?”

“You really want me to answer that?” he asks her.

“Maybe not,” she decides, screwing up her nose. “When did you find out who he was? Is that why you let us take your case?”

“No. That was all you,” He says. “I thought Murdock was an do-gooding asshole. I didn’t realise he was that do-gooding asshole,” Karen looks at him conflicted, there’s some amusement on her face but she frowns with some disapproval while her lips quirk. “He had a real fucking annoying habit of getting in the way when I was trying to put people down,” She giggles again, her shoulders shaking with it. “And it always came with a goddamn lecture.”

“Oh,” she moans as she laughs harder, rolling onto her back. She lets out a sigh before turning to him. “I’m gonna need coffee for this.” She says as she throws back the sheets and gets up.

Frank is more lazy about getting up, stretching and rubbing at his face before donning a vest and following her out to the living room. She’s got the coffee brewing and is opening her laptop, placed on the island counter in the kitchen. She's still just in his t-shirt. Karen's usually in some kind of light colour. The only time she wears black over the upper body is when she's got her coat on, or wearing something of his.

“Shit,” she mutters, looking at her laptop. “We slept late.”

He doesn’t say anything, happy about finally getting some real shut eye and glad Karen got it too, especially when it looks like she’s still set on avoiding some things and about to dive back into work instead.

“Where’d you put my phone?” she asks him as she starts typing away.

“Coffee table.”

“Thanks.” she says as she turns to go get her phone, but Frank grabs her wrist and spins her around towards him.

“Calm the fuck down,” he says gently, taking her other wrists and stroking at her skin. He leans forward, dipping his head until she meets him with her own. “Breathe,” He adds with his eyes closed, quieter now that they’re so close. She finally does, exhaling against him and letting her relax body. He opens his eyes when she pulls away. She stares back at him with a small smile. “Good.” he praises.

“This doesn’t look too bad,” she says, touching her fingers around his eye. “You’ve had worse.”

“I’ve had worse from Red.” He adds, in part to see how she’s going to react to the mention of the hero. She lowers her eyes, her eyebrows knitting. “What is it?” he asks, not sure about what’s keeping her back so much. “It wasn’t that long ago you told me you missed him.”

“I do, I miss our friendship…but what if I can’t ever get that back?” she asks, taking a step back. “So much of what I feel for Matt is…disappointment,” she sighs heavily. “That I’m not considered or I don’t matter. And the person I thought I knew was…smart, and kind, and cared about the right thing and –“

“And you’re having trouble squaring that with him scaling buildings.” Frank sums up as he moves past her to get the coffee.

“Well, yeah!” she says, grabbing two mugs and putting them on the island. "He knew how I felt about the man in black – we argued about it! He said he didn’t agree with how he did things! And when I tried to understand, tried to get him just to talk to me, he just lied to me! What if…what if none of our relationship – any of it – has been real? What if there is no friendship to go back to?” she finishes quietly, looking down at the mugs he’s pouring coffee into.

“Then you build a new one.” He says simply, turning back around to put the coffee pot back.

“Frank.”

“I’m serious,” he says looking at her again. “He and Foggy…they’re your family.”

“And you’re okay with that?” she asks, leaning her hip against the counter as she folds her arms.

“Maria's folks died early in marriage. Never really did the in-law thing. Both Murdock and Nelson seem pretty fitting candidates for pain in the ass brother in-law.” He raises his mug and gives a tilt of his head. He’s figured things out with Foggy for the most part. He’s had temporary peace with Red. He should be able to do it again.

“Frank.” She breathes, letting out a silent laugh.

“It is what it is, yeah? They matter to you. And I ain’t going anywhere. And Murdock apparently can’t stay dead so he’s not going anywhere either,” he picks up both mugs, handing her hers. “We’ll work it out,” he assures her. “I’m sure I'll have an urge to hit Red a few times during that but…" He pauses, clicking his tongue. "He cares about you, and he’s back. You can…fucking rage at him, be angry, whatever, but don’t do nothing. Don’t talk yourself out of it. I know you. You’ll regret it.” He tries to reason with her, not wanting her to talk herself out of it when he knows how much it will hurt her. And he doesn’t want to be the thing that’s in the way. He can learn to play nice with Red for her.

“There’s something else.” She whispers, only looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Hm?” he frowns at her, wondering what else he’s missing.

Karen stands with her back against the island now, holding her coffee in both of her hands, looking down at the liquid.

“I saw you, that night on the rooftop,” She starts. He waits, knowing there’s more to it – they’ve already talked about this, she knows he stood there for her to see him, to let her know he was there the only way he could after how things had gone down with Schoonover. “And Daredevil – Matt – rescued me that night, so I know he was there too.”

“Yeah?” he asks when she goes quiet. Frank’s frown gets worse, not liking where this could be going. He doesn’t want to talk about shit he knows she’s been kept out of. It’s not like he can tell her, he doesn’t know enough to tell her. He doesn’t want to know.

“He knew you were alive,” she says as she turns her head to him again. “He knew you were alive…and he didn’t tell me.”

Frank lets out a sigh, putting his mug down.

“Not to defend him – and I’m not, let’s be clear on that,” he pauses. “But Karen, no one knew about…us, then.” He tilts his head, trying to catch her eyes better but she pushes herself away from the counter instead and slams her mug down, agitated.

“He knew I…was involved!” she argues as she turns to face him. “He knew I cared.”

“And that you kept getting involved with my body count,” he adds. “Stab in the dark, he probably decided he was going to do what he could to make sure that didn’t happen again.”

“Well that wasn’t his decision to make!” Karen yells, meeting his eyes now and staring at him, defiant as hell. And Frank wonders if this is bringing back any resentment between them. He didn’t want her near him then either, for her sake. He stayed away, for her sake. He wouldn’t do that now but with this thing she has about him leaving still, he feels like part of her anger isn’t just aimed at how pissed she is at Murdock, but is also a warning to him.

“I know that,” he says calmly, staring back at her, accepting any unsaid shit she might be putting his way. “You know I didn’t tell Maria everything.” He adds, realising that she doesn’t seem to see or accept the resemblance.

“That’s not the same.” She dismisses with a shake of her head as she turns away.

“Maybe not,” he agrees but he’s not sure how much he believes it. Maybe it was okay with Maria where it wouldn't be with Karen, and he gets that’s the difference, but he can’t say he doesn’t understand where Murdock was coming from. And if he had just lost that other woman, for the first time, that night, Frank gets why Murdock wouldn’t want to risk losing Karen too. “But stab in the dark two, it’s going to be for the same reasoning.”

“I don’t need protecting,” she snaps. “I am not some delicate wallflower!”

“I know that. Hey,” he approaches her, putting his hands on her arms to still her, then cupping her cheek to get her to look at him. “I know that.” He assures her again, for whatever part of this may be aimed at him. He knows she doesn't need that protecting, but he still will do everything he can to keep her safe. It's not up for debate. Murdock's way of doing it may be bullshit, but Frank knows the goal is the same. She stares back at him, her eyes filling with tears. He keeps the contact up, stroking along her cheek with his thumb and letting the tips of his fingers under her ear to brush into her hair “You need see him, deal with this,” he says quietly. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. It’s not going to go away.” Karen closes her eyes, inhaling through her nose.

“Doesn’t that make me a terrible person?” she asks in a whisper, opening her eyes again. “My best friend comes back from the dead, some…impossible thing I kept hoping for and it happened…and all I want to do is yell at him.” she lets out a quiet cry, a tear falling down her cheek.

“I’m sure Red can take it,” he assures her, thumbing away the tear and the second one that follows. “It’s better than avoiding him.”

“I’m scared.” she says, staring back at him.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay. Come here.” he pulls her against him, wrapping his arm around her waist and settling it on her back. His other hand brushes through her hair, trying to comfort her. “You can be angry, Karen," he says against her ear. "Right? He fucked up, lied to you. You’re allowed to be pissed about that. But that doesn’t decide your whole take on this. And I know you don’t want it to.”

He bitches himself out as he holds her, pissed at his behaviour the last few days and leaving her to deal with this by herself. Whether any of it is aimed at him or not, he didn’t help with how he acted this week.

“I can’t go back to being lied to all the time.” She says, muffled against his shoulder that she’s leaning against.

“Tell him that,” he advises. “I doubt he’s ever going to be cool with you being overly involved, but maybe you can find some middle ground or something,” he adds, thinking about how there’s secrets on both sides. “Maybe you can tell him some things too, if you want.” He runs his fingers over, through, her hair, bunching it in his hand because he enjoys the feel of it.

“He’d hate me.” Karen sniffs, pulling back enough to bring her hand up and wipe under her eyes.

“You don’t have to tell him…everything,” he says, carefully trying to talk around the things she doesn’t like said out loud. “Middle ground, yeah? Just think about what you want, how you want that friendship to look. If both of you have the will to…fix shit, find something that works,” he shrugs. “That’s all you need to do it. But make it about what you want. Don’t compromise yourself, Karen, and not for him. If shit is unacceptable to you, then fucking tell him. But just as much…” Frank pauses as he looks at her, his eyes running over her face as she looks back at him. “Don’t give up either. Not yet. Cause that’s not you either.” He slides his hand down, stroking his thumb over her bottom lip.

He’ll do this forever if she wants, going in circles. He’ll talk her down, work it through with her if every day if it’s what she needs, but he knows her too well – loves her too much – not to push her, because he knows she wants that friendship to work, he knows she does want her family back. She wants the second chance he doesn’t pine for. Except she’s probably going to find the right way, the way he’d like to think he would take, if he did get a second chance with his family. She’s not going to be like David, going back to the perfect before. She’ll create something new, something more equal, more honest. And something Frank will be a part of.

“Shower?” he asks, nudging his lips across her jawline to her neck, his beard brushing against her.

“We didn’t finish the coffee.” She huffs a caught breath back at him, tilting her head for him.

“Fuck the coffee.” He mutters against her neck. She laughs quietly, he feels it in the way her body shakes more than hears it. “Yeah, that,” he says, nodding at her when he pulls back. “I gotta keep that smile on your face, yeah?”

“Oh right, Team Karen.” She says with mock-seriousness, her brows and lips tightening.

“Flying the fucking flag.” He deadpans.

He feels real, almost tangible fulfillment at the way she tips her head back as she laughs fully now. It’s as good as hitting a target and like many times before, Frank feels like maybe there’s something else besides killing he’s truly good at. He’s happy to distract her, to make her smile, laugh, any way he can until she’s ready to deal with Murdock. It’s just as good as the other skills he has because he knows it’s just as unique a talent. To get her, to soothe her, to work with her. He can somehow do that, like he’s made for it. Murdock can’t do it, but he can.

He leans in close again, gripping her arms with his hands and starts to walk her backwards so they can go shower. He’s careful to make sure she doesn’t bump into anything, even with the blonde hair he’s hiding himself in blocking his vision. He’s kind of awkward in his movement, slow and clunky, but she keeps giggling with every step.

 

Karen and Murdock arrange to meet mid-week, on the following Wednesday. If Frank hadn’t heard her half of the conversation himself, hadn’t known Karen wanted a few days to try to get her head together, he’d think Murdock set the date – it’s so goddamn dramatic. Like a countdown, ticking away.

Karen gets lost in her head over and over in the run up to the big day. She gets quiet, she looks away from him. He tries to be patient, to remind himself it’s not about him, that she’s in the same room as him because she wants to be. He tries to be a good partner, for her. Sometimes he’ll take her out of it when she spaces, but sometimes he’ll leave her too, knowing she maybe needs it. He tries to teach her a favoured Sicilian recipe of his on the Sunday, but she’s still awful at cooking. She laughs when she overcooks the pasta into a stodgy mess though, so he counts it as a success. Still, there’s relief each time she catches herself and makes a point of looking at him, at seeking him out in the room and making eye contact, giving him this closed-mouth smile of hers that’s still enough to rock something inside him, or she’ll come up to him, wrap her arms around him without saying anything. And it’s okay because even in those moments, where she is lost in her head, they’re still them. They still get each other more than anybody. He’s still good at knowing her. He uses them as times to show he’s not leaving her. He doesn’t want to fully address it until Murdock shit is over with, figuring it can’t be focused on, can’t be resolved past the day when she’s still hung up on similar shit with someone else, but he can still make a point of being present, of being with her. He doesn’t repeat his ‘I love you’ either for the same reasons, but he thinks about it, still convinced that look on her face has to be it.

The night before he’s out getting food for both of them, late because Karen’s running herself out of room in her mind to think about anything else but work. He takes some back streets like he usually does, still cautious about being recognised. He looks up at the vantage points of the buildings, like he always does and there’s a goddamn horned-silhouette against the sky, staring down at him.

“Aw for Christ’s sake.” He mutters to himself, letting out a sigh as he stares back. Red stands there for another 10 seconds or so before slowly retreating back into the dark, past the roof edge to where Frank can’t see him anymore. He exhales a heavy breath, annoyed that of course Murdock managed to up the drama and had to find a way to involve Frank as he moves to climb the fire escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more Chapters to go I think!
> 
>  
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. I think I lost all concept of time.

“You’re really into these rooftop rendezvous huh?” Frank says loudly as he hauls himself over the top of the fire escape and onto the roof. Frank gets his first real taste of Murdock successfully guilt-tripping him when the red jackass just silently stares at him and it’s like he feels the hurt of their conversation about Elektra, like he’s somehow across the way watching Murdock draped over her body again. He feels like the asshole. “Shit,” he sighs, looking down at his feet as he closes the distant, cutting the connection. “I didn’t mean…sorry.” He apologises with a frown, squinting at the city in the distance.

“An apology from Frank Castle. Must be my lucky night.” Murdock says, finally turning away and staring into the night again as he remains at the edge of the building. Frank can hear the smug smirk.

“Yeah well, what is it they say? Everyone gets one or something?” he hits back. “Is there something you want, Red? Or do you just like summoning strays off the street?” he asks, standing off to the side and behind Murdock who seems happy to have his back to Frank.

“I talked to Foggy.”

“Yeah, did you? That’s nice.” Frank mutters.

“He said you and Karen are happy. That you have been for a while.” Murdock says, the soft cadence of his voice suggesting he’s thoughtful about it. It’s hard to believe Murdock is going to accept what other people decide, but there is something there.

“We are,” Frank confirms without any attitude. “I told you, a lot’s changed.”

“It has.” Murdock agrees, quietly, as he bows his head. Frank watches him, assessing him.

“Do you regret it?” Frank asks. “Being back?” Murdock lets out something of a weary scoff, his body reacting in movement more than any sound it makes, his head and shoulders bouncing in a jut.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Murdock says, raising his head again. From his vantage point, Frank can see the half-smile on his face. Frank sighs, not able to be as annoyed about the drama as before. Shit, he’s becoming tolerant of Red. He steps closer until he’s almost beside him.

“You love her? This uh, Elektra?” he asks, remembering his mistake of assuming before, in the diner with Karen. He’s sure he knows the answer like he believed he did then, but he’ll ask this time.

“She made me feel…like being out here makes me feel.” Murdock says, still looking out at the city. Frank gets the impression this is a regular thing for him.

“Hm.” Frank grunts in understanding.

“That’s how it is for you with Karen?” Murdock asks, tilting his head towards Frank. Frank decides to answer honestly, rerunning his conversation with Karen from a few days ago. Murdock seems like he gives a shit about what Frank is going to say, and that has to be a good start to how he wants this all to turn out for Karen’s sake.

“Hm. And better. Normal. She makes me feel normal.” Frank says, his brows furrowed in thought. “Don’t think I’ve ever been normal, Red. I hid. Husband, father. When I came home…” he pauses with a shake of head. “I’d put it away, pretend otherwise. Picnics in the park…” he sniffs out of his daze, clears his throat and tries not to kick at the ground. “Karen, she gets it, you know? Doesn’t just accept it, but gets it.” He explains, giving something of himself, of them, him and Karen. It’s not the first time he’s let Red in that much, but it is the first time he’s doing it when he feels settled, when he doesn’t have only regret and blood running through his head. It’s the first time when he knows there will be a tomorrow that he cares about.

“Elektra didn’t really care much for normal.”

“What did she care for?” Frank asks, realising he is curious about this whole thing.

“Chaos. Controlled chaos,” Murdock says like a fact. He pauses. “It wasn’t her fault,” he adds with more feeling. “She was trained for war.”

“I remember that feeling.” Frank says, thinking how much purpose it always gave him, how much it shaped him. Controlled chaos sounds about right. “And she uh, she can’t come back…again? Is it a one-time deal or something?” he asks, turning his head towards Murdock and then quickly away again when he sees those goddamn horns.

“We…I buried her.” Murdock discloses instead. “Had a funeral for her. And they dug her up, took her and made them their weapon. They took away everything that she was and used her as they wanted. She didn’t even recognise me at first, Frank.” He continues. Frank drops his own head, letting out a deep sigh through his nose. He doesn’t know what to say to that. He never had funerals. But imagining saying goodbye, putting them to rest and then having someone come and disturb them…he clenches his jaw. “Thing is, nobody could ever make Elektra do what they wanted,” Murdock adds with a smile that shows his teeth. “She turned on them and decided what she wanted for herself.”

“Which was?” Frank asks gruffly.

“Power. And me,” Murdock says slowly, and Frank is no closer to knowing what the hell happened, to understanding how someone can be dead and brought back. “I couldn’t…” Murdock pauses, lowering his head and turning the other way. “I couldn’t let her split the world, Frank. But I couldn’t lose her again either.” There’s something like confusion in his voice, shame, maybe, but Frank isn’t sure what he’s ashamed about, that he wouldn’t let the world burn for someone he loved, maybe? Frank’s not so selfless. If Karen’s out, he’s out too. It’s the way it is. He’d die protecting her, simple as.

“I’m sorry you lost her.” Frank offers, not sure what else to say. Part of him thinks he’s supposed to say it will get better, that there will be someone else one day. But he can’t say that. Karen isn’t someone else, she isn’t just after. He still doesn’t get totally get how it all fits but he knows both Karen and Maria exist in the same time for him, and he doesn’t think that’s how it works for other people. He has no fucking idea if Murdock is ever gonna feel the same kind of thing for anyone else – he sure as shit wouldn’t have predicted he’d feel anything for someone else, nevermind the amount he does for Karen. And Frank knows he’s fucked in the head, maybe always has been, but this thing here is so much more fucked up, so much more period than he thought. And Karen doesn’t know a damn thing about it. Frank doesn’t know if how complicated it all is will maybe make things easier for her, or if she won’t be able to get past how much there is that she doesn’t know. There’s no way she won’t react to Murdock’s grief, she’s too good, but how the hell do you even start with this kind of shit.

“Sometimes I wonder if our moment should have stayed in college. At least then I could think she was still out there, somewhere,” Murdock adds, looking out at the city again and not for the first time, Frank wonders what he sees, cause it ain’t nothing. He ignores the college remark, realising it means Foggy would probably know her too. He doesn’t want to know if he knew all this and kept it back from Karen too. He knows she didn’t want to know after Murdock died, that there was something there with Foggy understanding that, but this shit is too much for him to fix. Murdock suddenly turns to fully face him for the first time. “I want Karen to be happy.” He says, shifting from heartsick to challenging Frank in a beat.

“You think I don’t want that?” Frank narrows his eyes.

“You’re a killer, Frank. She shouldn’t be involved in that.” Murdock declares and the hopes Frank had for them to deal with everything goes out the window, knowing how Karen will react to hearing that shit. Frank would have thought something similar once, wanting to keep Karen away from him for her sake, to keep her from getting hurt, getting dragged into the shit he'd created. Sometimes he still thinks it, this whisper in his head, but he respects her too much to listen to it, to do anything but see her. To know Karen Page is to know she will not give up. She will never step away from what she decides she wants to be involved in, for herself.

“I think that’s really up to her, Red.” Frank says, moving his feet until he’s now eye to mask with Murdock.

“It’s not the kind of life she deserves.” Murdock decides, back to full blown self-righteous, arrogant piece of shit that he is. Frank doesn’t know if it’s a power trip thing, sating himself by preaching to every other fucker. It’s a crock of shit and Christ, Red’s a blind fool for it more than any physical impairment makes him.

“And you think sneaking out at night to dress up like this,” he takes a step back to gestures to Red’s outfit, raising his hand up and down. “While she doesn’t have a friggin’ clue is better, do you? Where the hell do you get off pulling this shit, Red?”

“She’s my friend.”

“Yeah? I suppose you lie to all your friends, huh? Yeah, course you do,” he nods, his mouth lifting into a half-smirk. “Made a habit out of it, I reckon.” Frank pauses, taking note of Red’s silence. “Yeah. Do you even know how to be honest, Red?”

“I’m not doing this with you.” Murdock says, turning his focus back to the city as if he can just dismiss him. Fuck that.

“You’re the one that brought me up here,” Frank points out, feeling himself getting more and more wound up. “What, Red Knight, is it? You want to save her from me? From herself? You said it your damn self, Red, she’s happy. Do you not get that?” he questions as he taps his own temple, glaring at Murdock who doesn’t even react. Frank lets out a sigh of heavy frustration, turning around and walking some steps away. He needs the distance. He looks over his shoulder at Murdock, trying to remember why he’s bothering with this. “And I swear to Christ, if you want to save your friendship, if you have any fucking respect for her at all, you’ll tell her all this. Every fucked up thing you’ve kept from her.”

“I don’t know how to do that.” Murdock says, finally.

“Just open your damn mouth!” Frank yells, turning back around. He didn’t think he could be disappointed in Red, didn’t think he cared enough to be disappointed, but somehow he is. “It’s Karen. She is the most compassionate person going. She’s…” Frank stops himself, taking deep breaths in and out of his nose. “You want an ally?” he asks more calmly, turning around to fully face Murdock. “She’s it. But you have to fucking tell her. I’m not keeping your secrets for you. Not from her. Do what you want out here in that get-up of yours, I won’t tell any fucker about it. But I’m not lying to her, not for anything. We clear on that?”

“Are you threatening me, Frank?” Red asks, some amusement in his voice that pisses Frank off even more. He knows the asshole is deflecting but Frank doesn’t care, playing into it and doing what he knows is expected of him.

“You’re godddamn right I am. I will fucking dog you,” he promises, feeling something settle in him at vowing such things. “Karen and I…We’re together. That’s how it is.”

“I don’t know I feel about that.”

“I don’t give a shit how you feel about it,” Frank dismisses. “But I swear to Christ Red, if you lay any guilt on her, if you try your self-righteous bullshit, I’m happy to help you stay dead this time.”

“I want better for her.” Murdock says sadly. Frank is the one who’s still now, staring at Red. How can he miss so much? Too caught up in himself? In his own right and wrong that he thinks everybody else in the world has to adhere to?

“You need to take her off that pedestal, Red,” Frank says almost gently. “She doesn’t belong there.”

“Karen is good.” Murdock counters.

“Yeah, she is,” Frank agrees. She’s the best. “But she’s not a symbol for you. She’s not a saint.” He adds. Murdock chuckles.

“She said the same thing to me.” Murdock says, dropping his head, allowing Frank to see the smile on his face.

“Maybe you should have fucking listened.”

“Does she hate me?” Murdock asks quitely, his head still bowed.

“You’re family, yeah?” Frank says with a sigh, trying to be encouraging, trying period, but fuck he’s tired of this. It's draining and he just wants to go back to Karen’s, go pick up some food and go home. “You can figure it out…so figure it out. Stop lying to her. Tell her about Elektra, about whatever other crazy shit you’re involved in. Jesus, I’m occasional drinking buddies with Foggy – you can work something out, if you bother to climb off that high horse of yours.”

“You love her.” Murdock announces easily, like he’s already sure of it, turning around to face Frank. He didn’t ask, Frank notes to himself.

“I love her.” Frank confirms. It’s not hard to say it, but he wishes he could have this conversation with Karen before he has it with everyone else.

“Okay, Frank.” Murdock says after a pause. Frank glares at him, trying to decide if he wants to still punch him in the face anyway. His phone buzzing makes the decision for him.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He greets her, taking the call. He dips his head, staring at the ground so Murdock isn’t in his vision.

“Did you get food already?” Karen asks.

“No, I’m still on my way. I got…caught up with something.” He half-explains, finding himself looking at Murdock and then turning his back on him, facing the other way.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Nothing that’s gonna make the news. Tell you about it later.” He assures her, assuring himself as well that he’s not as bad as Murdock keeping shit from her. He will tell her about this run-in, like he did with the last one.

“Okay. Uhm, do you have saranwrap on the list already? Cause I just realised we’re out, and I wasn’t sure what we were having but there’s always leftovers with the amount you make.” She rambles and Frank has to bite down a grin.

“It’s on the list.”

“…chocolate? And that honey yoghurt I like.” Karen adds.

“I’ll get some.” He promises with a smile, the second he gets away from the hero.

“Thanks, Frank.” She says quietly, like she’s somehow even closer to the phone. And slowly. He knows that tone though. She didn’t call for chocolate and yoghurt, she called because she misses him, because she’s thinking about him.

“I’ll be home soon, okay?” he says, letting her know he gets it.

“…hurry.” She orders after a pause, hanging up afterwards.

Frank sniffs as puts his phone back in his pocket.

“Do yourself a favour and salvage your friendship,” he recommends to Red over his shoulder. “Whatever you’re struggling with…she’ll help make it better. She’ll listen,” He waits a beat before turning back around. “And she’s got a hell of a lot more patience for this shit than I do.” He half jokes with a half-smile, trying to give something.

“Who else knows about you, besides Foggy and Marci?” Red asks, once again ignoring what he’s said. Frank rubs at his eyebrow, trying not to be pissed that he’s getting used to the non-conversation. Maybe Red really doesn’t know how to be honest, how to be real.

“Mitchell Ellison.” Frank starts.

“Karen’s boss.”

“Doris Urich.” Frank continues.

“Ben’s widow?” Murdock questions with surprise. Frank wonders if he even knew Karen’s so close with her, if Murdock knows what had Frank questioning if he knew Karen like he thought he did. The thing that brought him back because he wanted to know.

“She clocked me pretty early.” Frank remembers with a smile. “Trish Walker and Jessica Jones, apparently,” he adds with some attitude. “A couple of high ups in government,” He pauses, waiting to see how that particular one lands, but Red is quiet. “And anyone I give any kind of shit about knows her. Alright? We share our lives, Red. And that’s not changing, no matter how much you wanna lecture us about it. Get the fuck used to it,” He orders, finally walking away, aiming for the fire exit he came up. “And stop standing at the edge of rooftops like a dramatic asshole!” He calls back.

“Aw, don’t take my fun away from me, Frank,” Red says, damn smirk obvious. “Don’t forget the chocolate.” He adds calmly, making Frank still before he makes himself move forward again. What the fuck is that about? Frank knows the volume on his phone ain’t that loud. Asshole is like a friggin’ bat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those of you still with me :)
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh finally, the last chapter! I hope there's still some of you interested in reading.
> 
> I'll leave a longer End Author's Note but thank you so much for all the support throughout this :)

He manages not to pace, much, as he waits for Karen to get back from meeting with Red. He has this bubbling energy in him that makes him think this whole thing is going to have more impact for him, for them, than it should. He tries not to be pissed about it.

Freshly brewed coffee in hand, he drops onto the couch with a heavy sigh, leaning back and tipping his head against the cushion. He rolls his shoulders, and his neck, trying to calm the fuck down. All the anger, the rage is gone. He doesn’t feel the need to hit back like he has most of the week. It’s just that question, that bullshit insecurity that makes him feel like he’s stuck until shit with Red is dealt with.

Fucking jittery. On edge, again. But it is different, he reminds himself as he sits there. There’s no pounding against his skull. Nerves, more than panic. Something unfinished more than something he’s about to lose.

He needs to figure out how to reassure Karen that he ain’t going anywhere and he can’t do that while her pain in the ass BFF continues his disappearing act.

Opening his eyes he finds himself staring at that damn picture. It’s like some goddamn loop he can’t get out of. He always ends up back here, eyes on the thing, questioning how he fits in with it. He leans forward, putting his coffee mug on the table with a clink before sitting back and up, digging into his pocket for his phone. He stares down at it, flipping it a few times in his hand, working up the balls to open it. Frank knows he’s a melodramatic, sentimental asshole, and doesn’t give a shit – spending hours staring at a reflection of a life, of a love, he knows he’s never deserved isn’t new for him, but his recent habit of comparing is. And to Red of all people. Except he himself compared himself to Red before he even knew Karen, knowing full well his mask was gonna fall one day and he’d be just like Frank. For the angsty piece of shit it’s turning him into now, part of it is just another connection to Karen he had before he felt it for himself, in that hospital room.

He doesn’t believe in fate, or meant to be’s or whatever. He can’t, and if he came anywhere close he’d call it a joke with a sick sense of humour. It wasn’t fate that got his family killed. If anything like it, anything along the thoughts of sealed or decided, it was the curse of him. The bad choice of him? But he couldn’t separate himself from Karen even if he wanted to. And he’s done trying to, even for what could be better for her.

 

The second he hears the door he looks over his shoulder waiting for her to come through the doorway, making himself stay seated.

He looks her up and down, narrowing his eyes a little as she comes through, trying to get some kind of hint of what went down.

He manages to make himself hold off until she’s sliding her coat off. “You okay?” he asks.

She lets out a quiet sigh before looking at him. “Yeah,” she says, making her way over to the couch. He stays still, looking up at her as she slips her shoes off by the side, feeling the reliability of that habit, that he knows that habit, giving him some comfort that’s better than coffee and blood. She drops down beside him. “Hi.” She turns to him, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back with a small smile. She seems tired, but not exhausted. More well-worked than burned out.

“Hey,” he says back, watching her mirror his earlier pose, leaning back against the couch. “How’d it go?”

“Good. He told me about Elektra.” She says, straight to the damn heart of it. Of course, she’s good at what she does.

Frank stills in place. He doesn’t hear an accusation, but… “Karen –“

“Frank, I know you know about her,” she says quietly, patiently, showing she knows how he’s about to react. “And I know you told – threatened – Matt to tell me,” his eyes drag down to the slight smirk she’s giving before she sobers again. “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t want to lie to you.” He tries to explain, pissed at Murdock fucking things up and dragging him into it and even more pissed that Murdock apparently accounted for Frank’s part in it.

She stares at him from her side of the couch, her head still against the cushion. “I know. You didn’t. You wanted to make sure I found out the right way and I’m grateful for that,” She reaches for his hand, taking it in hers and placing them both on her lap. “It wasn’t about us.” She adds, looking down at their hands.

He’s quiet for a second, watching their hands too as she adds her other, cupping his and stroking around his fingers. “I don’t know much about her.” He says gruffly, wishing he could shut up fully and just sit, and feel. The quiet, the heat of her hands, the care she gives. But he’s also been wanting to talk about this for a while now, this last thing kept between them. At least she knows now, at least Murdock finally told her. Maybe it will be the start of something more equal, more honest, for that friendship.

“He loved her,” She states and Frank has to bring his eyes up to the her face to make sure her expression is matching her voice. She sounds sad in the way she does about a tragic story she’s trying to tell. Empathy and reflection, but not deeply personal. “I think that’s the important part,” she continues, her mouth quirking in a sad smile as she tilts her head slightly, still staring down to the hands in her lap. “It’s weird. I’m sure I met her and…how I feel about it – her – now, doesn’t exactly match up with what I remember feeling then.”

He runs his focus down her body, but she seems relaxed enough. “How do you feel about it now?”

Her fingers stop their movement on his. “Sad for him,” she says with a frown before she turns to him. “And like…like something makes sense? Something I couldn’t work out before,” her eyebrows furrow further, her eyes shifting away. “I wish he’d talked to me about it at the time.”

He lets it lie for a while, letting her feel how she wants, how she needs to, before asking. “What about your side of things?”

“I told him about my brother, but not…”

“Anything else,” he finishes with a nod. “That’s okay. You know that, yeah?”

Meeting his eyes, she sits up straight. “ _You_ know,” she says, her eyebrows raised. “As long as you know…then yeah, I can live with that. I don’t want to lie to the person I share my life with, Frank. I can’t.”

“I’m good with it just being us,” he says, briefly looking down to their hands when she squeezes his. “So is there a second date in the future?” he asks through an exhale, feeling some of the burden lifting again, his mind balancing out again.

“Maybe next week. Maybe with Foggy too,” she lets him know. “There were times where it felt like…Matt again. Like I was sitting with Matt.”

He nods, feeling the movement rock him. “It’ll work out.”

“I hope so,” she whispers, tilting her head back again and he traces his eyes down her neck, pinpointing every mole, continuing down and outlining the ones he knows are under her blouse in his mind. “Thank you.”

Blinking he looks back to her face. “Hm?” he grunts.

“Just…for being supportive, being there,” she thanks him, running her hand through her hair and tucking some behind her ear. “For not punching Matt more than once.” She smiles, teeth on view and Frank stares.

“If you’re happy…that’s all there is to it,” he says, seeking her eyes again and waiting until she’s there with him. “That’s the only thing that matters here, it’s the only thing I give a shit about.”

“Not the only thing.” She counters and he hears that defence of him she puts first so often. She never lets it up, never stops reminding him and everyone else what she believes him capable of, something good.

“It’s the priority,” he points out, showing what he puts first. “Don’t you doubt it.”

She stares back at him and Frank lets himself sink into it all. Into Karen and him, into those habits, those comforts that he knows and he feels part of it, but still there’s that…buzz. Not the headfuck kind, not like when it’s just red and noise and chaos that he can’t cut through, but the one that sends some kind of energy through him. Excitement. When he feels very aware he’s in the presence of strength, of kindness, of truth. And she’s beautiful. He doesn’t tell her that, it’s not what made him stop and pay attention, but she is. Pale and soft and legs that have changed what turns him on. She draws him in. She’s always been the thing in the room he’s pulled to. Always.

“He heard me.” She says quietly, barely hearing her voice.

He frowns, not sure what he’s missed.

“Matt,” she clarifies but he’s still unclear. “The night on the roof? He heard me,” she wets her lips, pressing them together in another habit he’s found himself enjoying predicting, and watching. “He knew I knew you were alive because he heard me say your name that night.”

His frown deepens. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out as he tries to work it out. “From the ground.” He finally says.

“From the ground,” She repeats with a nod. Her focus lowers away from him briefly. “It’s part of…what he can do,” she shrugs her shoulders. “He can hear heartbeats.” She says almost distractedly, clearly there’s other shit there for her with that one but he doesn’t want to push it. He’s got his own Red experiences going through his mind. Heartbeats? Frank’s a sniper, he’s used to listening to his own heartbeat and taking the shot between the counts, but other people’s? Shit.

“Son of a bitch.” He mutters, turning away and towards the coffee table as he remembers something.

“Frank?” she asks next to him.

He looks back to her, staring at her and watching her face become more concerned. Shaking his head, he turns away but finds himself leaning his body closer to her. “It’s uh,” he sighs, staring ahead. “There’s this…thing, this phrase, I’d say whenever I put down anyone that was part of it…part of...” he turns, catching her eyes briefly to make sure she gets it before he looks ahead again. “I’d say it before I pulled the trigger,” he pauses, having to work up to it. He wasn’t expecting it, to think about it. He hasn’t said it for a long time now. “One batch, two batch –“

“Penny and dime.” She finishes in awe, making him turn back to her. He recognises that tone too, the realisation of a breakthrough in a story.

“How do you…” he tries to ask in awe himself, of her.

She looks shaken, pressing her lips together as she shakes her head, thinking. Closing her eyes, she stills, the slightest dip of her eyebrows. “Your house, when I went there,” she swallows, and nods before opening her eyes and looking at him. “It – the book – it was sitting out, upstairs,” she continues quietly, carefully. So obviously mindful of what she’s touching. “For some reason…I read it.” She shrugs, a small, unsure smile on her face.

Frank gives his own amused exhale. Of course she did, of course she managed to zero in and find what mattered most, to pin it down. Christ, they hadn’t even talked yet and already she knew. He tilts his head, nodding to himself as he tries to speak again. He clears his throat “It was…it was her favourite,” his voice is a harsh whisper. “She’d outgrew it, long time ago but…still, every night she… every night. Except that last night because I uh…” he nods in tiny juts, over and over, inhales, exhales, smells Karen next to him. The smells, the feel of his home, his other home. “Red – Murdock,” he corrects with a click of his tongue as he stares down at the coffee table. “He asked me about it. Fucker heard it somehow. I didn’t…” he trails off, shaking his head and trying to ignore the sting in his eyes.

Karen reaches for his hand, grabbing it from his thigh. He stares intensely as she does. He thinks it might be another new habit he’s picking up, focusing on how she touches him, on how their hands fit together. He thinks he might have picked it up from her, remembering her a few nights back when they were working it out. Maybe it’s one he’s relearning, or adjusting, his mind going back to how he couldn’t help but watch the way she’d reach out to him sometimes, like in the elevator. Fascinated that she’d want to, he couldn’t stop tracking those attempted touches.

“One batch, two batch, penny and dime.” She quotes softly, thoughtfully, and Frank swallows. He hasn’t heard anyone else say that since… And to hear her say it like that, careful but not fearful, it’s like it soothes all the shit he added to it or something. It helps refresh it in his mind, remember what it used to mean. Good things, family and love and so much damn pride. Not the trigger, not the mess he’d make of a body and the satisfaction of it, not the mess of her at the end. Life, instead of death. The lack of that last night doesn’t take away every one they had before it.

He brushes his thumb up against Karen’s palm from under the hold she has on him as he slowly inhales, feeling his shoulders drop as he leans back again. When he looks to her, her eyes are shinning, sharing his grief, sharing everything he feels. “Are we okay?” he asked gruffly.

Her eyebrows dip as she looks back at him. “Yeah, of course we are,” she says. “Aren’t we?”

He traces over her face before speaking. She’s it, she’s why, now. Why he can get through the day, why he wants to get through the day. And this past couple weeks…even with him losing his shit and being such an asshole…she’s still here, reminding him that she has been, even before he knew it. He’s still here. They’re still them. They’re okay, he thinks, but they’re not everything he thinks they could, should, be. He knows she still worries he’s going to leave her. They still haven’t talked about him saying ‘I love you’ twice, and neither of them mentioning it since. But they are okay and now isn’t the time. “Hm.” He nods.

Moving forward, she pushes herself into his space, curling her legs up against him as she cups the side of his face and drags him in. Their foreheads touch first, before she tilts her head and presses a kiss to him. “We’re okay,” she whispers as she pulls back, dipping their foreheads together again. Frank keeps his eyes closed, breathing her in over and over. “You’re okay.”

Yeah, he is.

 

He spends the next afternoon running some errands before deciding to drop in on her at work, hopefully picking her up early.

 

He quickly opens the door of Karen’s office after a double knock, keeping his face turned away from the rest of the room.

“Frank.” Karen greets him with quiet surprise, almost breathing his name as she stands up from her chair and stares at him.

“Hey,” he pulls his hood down, seemingly making Karen realise he’s actually there; she quickly steps from around her table and flips the blind, blocking the view of them, of him.

“What are you doing here?” she asks coming over to him. She kisses him on the cheek, a smile lighting her face when she steps back.

“I thought I’d come pick you up, in case Foggy got any ideas about kidnapping you again.” He smirks, but it’s true. He wants to reset this whole Murdock thing so she’s still talking to him about it, not coming home after she’s already shutting away her thoughts on it.

“Aw,” she grins back at him and Frank is just glad she’s in a good mood still. “Thought you’d get to me first?”

“Hm.”

She presses her lips together, trying to look serious for a second and it has him curious. “You already missed him.” she says, letting the grin lightening her face again.

“Of course I did.” He scoffs. Figures. Damn Nelson, slippery fucker.

Karen gives a quiet giggle, running her teeth over her bottom lip. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to get a pitch about all of us going to Josie’s together,” she jokes. “And careful, his opening argument skills are almost on level with his closing these days.”

“I remember. Pretty sure I helped hone those skills.” Frank says.

“Yeah, probably.” She turns around and grabs some papers from her desk.

“Well I hope you don’t mind me turning up anyway.”

“Course not,” she assures, looking back to him. “Do you mind waiting though? I want to get this draft finished.”

“Sure,” Suddenly he’s nervous, bringing his hands together in a clap before separating them and doing the same thing again. “Listen uh, do you wanna go get some food?”

“Yeah, we can get something on the way home,” she says casually, distractedly as she turns to her work again, tucking her hair behind her ear as she leans over, looking for something. “What are you in the mood for?”

“No, I meant uh, going out, for something. You know, table, chair.”

She stops what she’s doing, straightening up and turning back around. “Are you asking me on a date?”

He blinks, briefly looking to the side. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” she asks softly, carefully.

“Yeah, I am.” He nods. He is. They’re doing this thing, so he wants to do it as right as he can.

A small, touched smile slowly marks her mouth. She looks so damn delicate and Frank kind of gets off on being able to make her look like that when he knows how tough she really is. He gets off on the fact that she allows it from him, allows him to have that effect on her. “I’d love to.” She whispers.

“Good.” He gives a single nod.

Her quiet smile turns more playful. “We are talking about a restaurant here, right? I’m going to be able to go home and get changed? You’re not taking me for an early special at a diner, right?”

“Now ma’am, I hope you’re not knocking diner coffee.” He says in mock seriousness, taking slow-steps towards her.

She beams at him but it quickly drops away, a concerned frown replacing her joy. “Frank, we don’t have to go out. You know I don’t need that stuff, right? I’m happy just to go home.” Home. Still every time that hits something in him.

“I want to, Karen,” he says. “It’s…I want that for you, for us.”

The quiet smile tugs again, her eyes bright as she stares at him. “Okay. An hour,” she quickly turns around and moves back behind her desk again. “Hour and a half, tops.” She adjusts, sitting herself down.

Frank sniffs, looking at the couch she has. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.” He agrees, picking up the pile of papers and box on the couch and putting it on the table next to it, where another couple of boxes sit. It’s always the same when he’s here. He remembers when some of that used to be about him. He sits down, lying back and closing his eyes, listening to the sounds of her typing away. A sound he’s used to, that makes him chill the fuck out these days.

The room is quiet for a second but he doesn’t pay much attention, rolling his shoulders back as he relaxes. “Frank?”

“Hm?” he grunts, not bothering to open his eyes.

“I love you.”

His eyes shoot open. He turns, leaning himself on his elbow as he looks at her over his shoulder. It’s probably about as unperfect as his was but Christ. She stares at him, a tiny smile on her face that quickly turns nervous, making him realise he needs to get the fuck up. “Shit,” he almost pants as he moves and makes his way over to her. “Yeah?” he asks, crouching on his haunches in front of her so they’re level.

“Yes.” She breathes, pressing her lips together before she lets out this happy laugh that shows her smile. She stares back at him and it’s that, that look that he’s been so sure is love, as she takes him in and he knows it’s as exactly who, what, he is.

“I love you.” He vows. It’s not perfect, but somehow it’s still worth how long he stopped himself saying it for. The way she’s looking at him. And maybe there is something right about it being here, surrounded by what is ultimately Karen. He reaches for her hand, her elbow and hauls her up out of her seat until she’s standing with him, completely align, equal. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her against him. Stroking her hair aside, he kisses up her neck until they’re locked together.

She lets out another giggle and it makes him realise one of them is shaking and Frank can’t tell which one of them it is. He isn’t sure it matters, he feels it in her body as much as his own.

“I never really figured you for romantic gestures at the office.” She says against his neck, muffled by his jacket.

Loosening his arms, he pulls back just enough to see her face before tipping his head forward, resting his temple against her forehead as she automatically shifts to do the same.

Habits. Frank has so many different, new, habits now. Ones built out of want, of trying, of letting go and giving in. Of her, of staying. Nothing methodical, nothing bound by training and rage alone.

The shaking has switched for swaying, he feels them moving back and forth and he doesn’t try to stop it. He’s fine being out of control a little with her.

“I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy.” He mutters with a soft exhale, thinking of when he’s said it to her before.

“I remember,” she says with what he’s sure is a smile. “We don’t have to go out tonight, we can just go home.” She adds, gripping him tighter and Frank feels it, her fear.

Pressing another kiss to her neck, he pulls back to look at her. “You’re worried.”

Karen bows her head, looking up at him from under her lashes before she looks down again. “It’s not safe, for you. If someone sees you…” Frank watches the way she seems to steel herself for it happening right this second, her body straightening slightly, tensing, as she swallows.

“We’ll deal with it.” He says steadily.

“Frank –“

“I want to have a life,” he cuts her off, trying to keep his tone calm. This is it, he thinks. He has to convince her he’s not going anywhere and he thinks it needs to be now. “I want to have a life with you. Okay?” he tilts his head forward, catching her eyes so she’s looking at him again. “I’m not saying I’m gonna be an idiot; I’m not going to draw attention to myself if I can help but…” he breathes out, in again. “I’m not gonna keep you in the shadows. I’m not gonna hide away. I… Karen, I’m done with that. I have to be.”

“And that’s…” she breaks their eye contact again, her eyebrows furrowing as she pulls back from him. “That’s really…sweet, Frank, but it’s not how it works. And that’s okay, I knew that when we…when I… I’ve always known that…” her eyebrows raise, like she’s putting effort into trying to appear relaxed, or make herself believe it. “May happen one day. But I still choose you.”

“Why won’t you get that I choose you?” he asks in a harsh whisper, narrowing his eyes as he watches her.

“I do.” She insists, her eyebrows pulling down again.

“You don’t.”

She raises her head and meets his stare, suddenly looking tired again. “I don’t want to fight.” She says, all care and delicate.

“Well maybe I do,” he pushes back, causing her to look at him a little shocked. The frustration he feels isn’t anger, and he’s grateful for it. He still feels in control right now, but he’s also still failing this and he really wants to figure it the fuck out, how to get through to her. “I want to fight for us, alright? That’s what I’m already trying to do. Worst case and I am found…maybe I have to leave New York.” He says slowly, thinking of it as something of a test, maybe. Something she’ll react to, something that gets to the point. And while maybe it’s an asshole move, he’s running out of ideas and at least he’s here, right now, in this room, if she does react.

“Not just the city.” She says in realisation, taking a step back. He lets her, watching her body move as he stands as still, as calm, as he can.

“That depends.”

Karen half-turns away, reaching out for her desk and as he takes her in, he thinks it’s unfair. It’s not something he really applies to much, knowing how shit goes. Thinking things unfair means jack shit, doesn’t change fuck all. Action is the only thing that changes anything. But here they are, saying ‘I love you’ and she was smiling and teasing just minutes ago and now it’s like she remembered she’s alone. “On what?” she asks, way too casual as she stares down at the ground, her hand still on her desk as if to balance her. Frank still hasn’t moved.

“On if you’d come with me,” he finally says. Her eyes shoot to his, wide. “It wouldn’t be permanent, we’d only be gone for a while till I sorted whatever it was. I’m not asking you to abandon everything. I don’t expect that and I don’t want that. You belong here, I get that,” he lets himself look around the space she stands in, because Karen doesn’t just belong in the city, she belongs in this room, this newsroom. “But I…I belong with you. That’s…that’s where I wanna be,” he has to clear his throat as he looks at her. He’s seen a lot of expressions on her face, he reckons he could predict most of them by how she is, he can read them all, but this one…this is new, somehow. Hope, maybe. And something else. He drops his head so he can continue. “So unless you get rid of me…that is where I’ll be. I’m not going anywhere you’re not,” he lets himself face her again. “There’s no point without you, Karen.” He gives an easy shrug, feeling the half-smile at the realisation and saying it, because it’s that simple when it comes down to it and he’s okay with it.

She shakes her head as she stares at him, tears shining as her hair moves. “That’s not true.” She whispers.

“Yes it is,” he says with a nod, feeling calm still. He knows what he’s saying is truth and it feels easy, right. “It’s you. And I know that you get that I…I’m not some valuable, stable member of society. I know you don’t expect that out of me…” he stares intensely, trying to keep her with him, trying to connect to how she’s always treated him, always seen him, never shying away from who and what he really is. “So please, stop expecting it from me,” he whispers, not looking away from her. “I’m…I’m right here,” he lets out a soft chuckle, feeling the meaning of those words, even now when they’ve said the actual words. “So please, let me be right here.”

She takes a shaky breath as she silently cries. “I’m scared.”

Frank closes the steps between them, unable to stand even that far away from her anymore. “I know. I fucking get that, I do. The thought of losing you recently…” he shakes his head. He does get it, he’s always gotten it. It’s what kept him away, it’s what has him panicking. He can’t go through that again. He’d be done. “I get it. But I’m not going anywhere. And I just… Karen I just hope the longer I’m around, the more you can have faith in it. And until then…” reaching out, he slowly tucks some of her hair behind her ear. “If you’re worried, if you doubt… You can talk to me,” he drops his hand until he’s cupping her neck. “If anything happens…we’ll deal with it, like we have been this whole time. Christ, we have Foggy and Murdock on side. We’ll sort it as it comes our way.”

“Okay.” She whispers with a nod. Sniffing, a small smile lights her face.

“I don’t want you to worry,” he says. “I don’t want you second-guessing everything, wondering if that’s the thing that’s gonna do it, if that’ll be the thing that means I’m gonna leave or die or…” he shakes his head, looking over her face. “You don’t do that with work. You know what you’re doing, the risks and the possible consequences, but you push through, you get it done without that worry taking you down. Treat me like that, with that same strength, that…that same determination and belief, please. I just want you with me.”

The smile gets bigger and she wraps her arms around him in a hug, burrowing herself into the crook of his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you.” he says back before closing his eyes and breathing out. They stand there in an embrace for a while. When Frank opens his eyes again his attention falls on the frame on the table behind them. “What do you think about taking this home?” he asks as they pull away, gesturing to it. “You should have something of Ben, of both him and Doris there.”

“Maybe,” she says thoughtfully before nodding. “Yeah, yeah you’re right. But not this one,” she picks it up and looks at it. “Ben kept this here, it should stay here. But maybe I could ask Doris for one or even a different one?” she thinks out loud as she puts it back down.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“Okay, let me just tell Ellison I’m done for the day.” She says, dragging her hand through her hair, letting out a breath as she leans forward and shuts everything down. Picking up some papers, she steps around her desk and grabs her purse and coat. She puts them both on the desk, placing her stuff inside the purse.

“I’ll get you downstairs?” he asks. She nods, not looking at him and he watches as she gets flustered, picking up her coat, and then putting it down again, before doing the same thing with her purse and then hanging her coat over her arm but seemingly changing her mind again. With a half-smile, he steps forward, holding out his hand to take the coat that she apparently doesn’t want to put on yet. “I got it.” He offers.

“Thanks.” She gives it to him, briefly meets his eyes before looking away again and focusing way more attention on putting her purse over her shoulder than it needs. There’s the barest blush on her cheeks and he closes that distance and kisses the colour away and Frank finds himself wondering what she’ll wear out tonight and if he can distract her enough to make her smile and blush like that in front of others and not just in this safe haven for her. A whole new mission to figure out.

There’s just one more thing they need to deal with first.

 

He closes the door behind them when they get back to the apartment, finding himself leaning back against it.

Karen quickly notices he’s not moving beside her and turns back with a frown that deepens as she clocks him standing still against the door. “Frank?”

He meets her eyes as she stands waiting for him to explain what the fuck he’s doing, but he figures it’s better just to get on with it and show here. Walking towards her, he grabs her hand and tugs her with him. “Come ‘ere.”

“What’s going on?” she asks, going along with him into the living room.

“Nothing. I just…there’s something…” he stops not far into the room, staring down and feeling her hand in his before working up enough to turn to the dresser on the right. “Are you alright with them there?” he asks, only half-facing the row of frames now placed there. Instead, he keeps his head down, his eyes going back and forth between her face and her waist, focusing in on her bag that’s hanging over her shoulder.

Karen’s quiet at first and Frank can see her head move in his peripheral, taking in the display. “That’s why you asked…” she stops, taking a step forward that means she drops his hand and he stands there feeling the loss. He’s nervous, again. His breathing picking up as he tries to reel it all back.

He can make out as she picks one up and he assumes he knows which one, the only one she hasn’t seen yet. He doesn’t feel much braver but he does want to be involved in this, this moment. He needs to be. “It’s not the best, I know, but… It’s us.” He says quietly, trying to find something to articulate how it makes him feel.

She stares down at it, her hair falling forward and blocking her face from him. “How long have you had this?”

“Since that night,” he says carefully as he steps in line with her. “I didn’t know how I felt about it.”

She shakes her head, not taking her eyes off the frame in her hands. “I don’t understand.”

Frank exhales a sigh as he zeroes in on the one of her, Foggy and Murdock. “I’ve been staring at that since I came back here,” he says as he gestures to it, staring at what he’s always seen as the happy trio, family, Karen’s family. “Trying to figure out if I could fit into that, if I could give you that.”

“And?” she asks. “Did you realise you can?”

Looking back to her, she’s already facing him. “Yeah, yeah, I did,” he says quietly as he frowns, nodding to himself as he almost fully realises it in this moment. “I mean, it’s a work in progress but… You’ve taken…everything I have, all my shit, everything I’ve done and still do and you’ve just…accepted it. Me,” He shakes his head, sniffing as he tries to figure out what to say, how to say it. Nothing else has worked so far, nothing else has gotten the point across to her. “I’m not good like you, Karen,” he traces his over her, recognising her, everything she is. It’s not just that she’s good to his bad, it’s that she represents so much about humanity that Frank still isn’t sure he’s ever really possessed. “Yes, you are, sweetheart,” he talks over her as he sees her go to disagree. “I’m not, but I’m trying…I’m trying to…fit it, all of it, together.” He blinks as he looks over all the frames, standing together, representing their separate lives, together.

“We look…” she trails off as she turns her attention back to the frame in her hand.

“I know,” he says quietly as he watches her. She doesn’t look up again, focused on the frame. “Karen?” he tries but she still doesn’t react. “Hey, please don’t shut me out. I can’t… Please.” He tries, crowding near her.

She looks up, but not at him. Instead she runs her eyes over all the frames there. Sniffing, she leans forward and picks up the one with him and his family. “You’re so happy here. Beautiful family, great life…” she says with a small smile. “Everything,” She adds before turning to one of them that’s still in her other hand. “Not in this one,” she decides and Frank doesn’t get what she sees, how she doesn’t get what’s there. “I don’t expect you to be like that, now,” she says with apology as she turns to him before looking away again, putting both frames back down where he’d placed them earlier. “I’m not saying…” she stays leaned over for a moment, tucking her hair behind her ear and leaving her hand there and he knows that move, knows her trying to gather herself, work it out herself. “I mean, I understand.” She says with an acceptance he doesn’t want as she stands straight again, barely able to look at him before having to turn her eyes away completely again.

“You don’t,” he bites out. “You don’t understand – not this, you don’t. This one thing… I’m fucking it up.”

Now she looks at him, open face, tilted head and worried about him, that he thinks badly of himself – he knows that look too, so why doesn’t she get all of his? “No, you’re not,” she tries. “I…”

Frank grabs the one of them again and holds it out to her. “This. What do you see in this? What am I in this?”

“You’re upset.” She says with a frown as she looks down at them.

“No, not what you remember, what do you see?”

Letting out a breath, she looks it over again. “You letting me in.” she says quietly.

Frank releases his own breath, hoping maybe they’re getting somewhere. “I’d never had that. Not like that, not until you.”

She presses her lips together. “Because the things –“

“Not because of the shit that had happened, not because I lost them, no,” he cuts her off before taking a half-step forward and pointing at the one of him and his family again. “Karen, here, I’d already seen my buddies die without feeling much grief, I’d killed – and I was good at it. I’d disappointed them over and over and had moments where as much as I loved them, loved being with them, I thought I would be better somewhere else. You thought this showed another side to me, yeah? But it’s just one side,” he shakes his head. “This is posed,” he says before turning back to her and the one of them. “I didn’t even know that one was being taken.”

“Because you were upset.” She explains away. Too understanding but not understanding him and goddamnit, they’re back to square one.

“No, would you… Fuck!” he harshly whispers as he turns away from her, circling and pacing back and forth a few times. He’s breathing too deeply. Frustrated, with himself, with her, with why she won’t accept this. She’s quiet and still as she stands there, letting him get his shit together. That she gets, that she’s always gotten. When to push, when to not, when to be. So why… He exhales deeply through his nose as he looks at her again, slowly walking back towards her. “I knew everything that was happening in that kitchen, that’s why I was like that. Every fucking sound, every move, breath, scrap of chairs and fucking knives and forks… I knew that entire goddamn scene… Until you were in front of me. And then all I knew was you. The only thing I felt, saw, knew, gave a shit about, was you. It blanketed everything else,” he tries to explain, remembering how that day went and that it represented so much else outside of that room, about him, about them. “You’re buried deeper, Karen. And it’s not that I’m not happy, because I am. It’s different, okay, fine, but I am happy. I’m just not…I’m not faking anything anymore. And I don’t mean that’s not real,” he looks at the other one again, him and his family. “Because it was, it was, it… But it…it wasn’t all there was. It doesn’t show everything,” turning to her, he points at the one of them, seeing all the vulnerability of it, seeing that it encased both parts of his life. A breakdown because he was in a family kitchen. It only happened because he knew that dynamic, knew how to pose for a family setting, knew how to be in a family. And there’s Karen, picking up the pieces because she knows him. “That shows everything. Sometimes I’m a fucking a mess and you’re there with me, getting that like I never thought anybody… There’s no part of me that’s hidden, that’s untouchable, to you,” taking the frame from her hands, he lays it down on the dresser with the other before getting in her space again. He stares into her eyes, shinning with emotion as always. “You’re not a replacement, you’re not something I’ve moved on with,” he continues, needing her to understand, needing her to understand even if no one else does. As long as she does. She has to know. “And I can deal with every other fucker not getting it, but not from you,” he says feeling desperation building in him. He keeps his eyes on hers but gestures outwards to the frames. “You told me what’s happening now doesn’t change that that was my life. What happened before doesn’t change what’s happening now. I need you to get that.”

He watches her swallow, hears it it’s so quiet. “I’m sorry.” She whispers, immediately pressing her lips together as a tear runs down her face.

“Don’t, don’t fucking dare apologise to me, alright?” he says in a whisper as he reaches out to wipe the tear away. “Just…believe in us?” he tries, not knowing if that’s right, if that’s what it is, but she believes in him, somehow, and he knows she believes in herself, so what else is it? “I don’t know. You care about truth, what’s real…what’s more real than that?” he asks, briefly looking over to the frame again. No one can look at that and not see what’s between them. “See us. Please Karen,” he brushes his thumb along her cheekbone and down to her mouth, over her mole. “I’m trying to do the same. And I…I think I’m getting it,” he nods, because he is, he is getting it. He thought he did before, but with Murdock coming back, he’s realised there’s still things that niggle, that he worries about, there’s still more that he wants. All of it. The peace and chaos and the dates. He’s in this, and he’s realising how much she is too, more than ever. The full after. A whole life. “I’m in love with you, and that marks every part of me. It works with every part of me. I don’t deserve it, I know, but…but it’s there, it’s how it is and I want it.”

“Frank.” She breathes before stepping wrapping her arms around him. For everything that’s changed, how far they are now, the way she says his name is still exactly the same. Whole sentences and so much emotion in that one word.

Sniffing, she pulls back, one arm dropping to his waist as she turns to the dresser. “They look good there,” she says, keeping her head on his shoulder. “One more needed, one of Ben and Doris.”

Nodding, he reckons it will round them off perfectly. “Still up for that date?” he asks, turning his head to see her as much as he can. Blonde, mostly.

“Definitely,” she says. “It sort of feels like everything’s working out.”

He scoffs, a slight laugh because he can’t really believe it. “I know. Fuckin’ crazy, hm?”

“It’s kind of perfect, Frank.” She whispers and he hears the fear there, as if saying it too loud could hurt. But she’s saying it, and that means everything right now. She’s telling him, putting it out there instead of hiding it away.

Frank nods again, his cheek rubbing against her hair. “And it’s just the first date,” he says calmly before pulling away to face her, so she knows he gets it. “I think I’m gonna have to keep the beard too, going outside more and everything.” He jokes after another moment. She makes him joke, too. He still remembers that diner waitress calling him a hipster and pissing him off with it, not that she gave a fuck about his attitude. Yet Karen makes the same joke and suddenly he wants to be part of it, part of making her smile, of being something that she sees and makes her thinks she can tease him, that he’s worthy of it, that he’s not too fucked for it. It’s been there since, the joke, since she made it something safe, something good and sweet. A normality he could be part of. Because she knew exactly who she was saying it to, yet deemed him good enough, right enough, for it anyway. She trusted that he wouldn’t lose his shit over it. And she knew he could smile about it before he even did.

She breaks out in a smile. “Works for me,” she giggles before biting it away, serious again. She reaches out and touches his chest, staring where she’s pressing against. Frank stands still for her. “You’re here, you’re right here.” She says almost to herself.

Covering her hand with his own, he stares at her. “Yeah.”

Karen nods, taking a deep breath in through her mouth and releasing it again. When she looks up, she smiles at him, her mouth upturned into something sweet. His own mouth twitches in a half-smile as he nods back at her. They can do this. He can do this. He’s not going any-fucking-where and anytime she needs reminding of that, he’ll give it.

 

A month later there’s more than one frame added. There’s one of Ben and Doris and another older one of them with Ellison and his wife at some dinner party. And two more – two Frank is in. There’s one just of him and Karen, under the florescent lights outside of Josie’s. Frank is behind Karen, his head down slightly and turned towards her and she’s mid-laugh. Foggy took it and the grumbling between him and Frank as he did, trying to talk Frank into letting him take it at all is what had Karen laughing. It’s replaced the other one of them in the Lieberman kitchen, that’s now in their bedroom. Frank had swapped them, thinking that first one was too private, maybe too special now there was a second.

There’s a group one too. One with both Frank and Murdock. Taken some other night at Josie’s, taken _by_ Josie after Marci had demanded it and then Foggy had pleaded and paid their tab when nothing else convinced her. The lot of them. Frank with Karen on one side, Murdock on the other and Foggy and Marci in the middle with beaming smiles.

It’s posed, but also a moment of a much larger one. He has drinks at Josie’s with Karen’s friends now. He thinks they might sort of be something close to his friends too. There’s lunches too, sometimes. He’s half-expecting to get into some philosophical discussion over the worth of killing people one of these days. He’s sure he’s seen Murdock bow his head and make a point of keeping his mouth shut about it more than once.

He still finds himself staring at the one of Karen, Foggy and Murdock sometimes, but it’s different now. It doesn’t stand alone, this one, sole view of her life. It’s with a bunch of others too. And he’s seen them like that in person now. He gets it. And he gets why he and her are different, more than ever.

He’d wondered about changing the frame of him and his family. Trying to give it something, contribute something, take care of it. But it felt more right to leave it as is because Maria had chosen that frame. And Frank wanted something of hers, something she’d wanted and chosen.

Turns out having proof of lives with Maria and Murdock alike in the same space was some sort of key to how it fits. He is figuring it out, he thinks. He can live with it – he is living with it, pretty fucking happily.

He’s part of something, a unit, again. More than one. His friends, her friends, their friends, this circle of life, of living, they’ve created together, and then just the two of them. He’s part of…a family, again. One fucked, but functioning family that he has a place in, and just her, just them when it’s too much. Her he can run to, be with, without the guilt that it is too much.

He still thinks about maybe getting a new apartment, one where this new unit can be. And a dog. He really wants a damn dog again. He watches Karen when owners, walkers, go by them. She’s a dog person, he fucking knows it. A new addition could work.

 

_I'm ready to go, I'm ready to go_  
_Can't do it alone, can't do it again_  
_I'm ready to run through the heat of the sun_  
_Can't do it alone, can't do it alone_  
_I'm ready to fall, so tired of it all_  
_Down deep in a hole, can't do it alone_  
_I'm ready to climb this mountain inside_  
_Impossible heights_

_Said you'd always be my white blood_  
_Circulate the right love_  
_Giving me your white blood_  
_I need you right here with me  
Said you'd always be my white blood_  
_Elevate my soul above_  
_Giving me your white blood_  
_I need you right here with me_  
 _Here with me_

_I'm ready to hope, swing me out of the low_  
_Wide awake in the glow, can't do it alone_  
_I'm ready to fly, uncover the light_  
_Impossible heights_

_I need you right here with me_  
_I need you right here with me_  
_Here with me_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you for reading, for any kudos you gave and especially for comments and asks on tumblr.
> 
> I got stuck in the end there and so this took me a lot longer than I would have liked. Well, I decided to stop writing it for a while. This will sound weird, I'm sure, but...it got really...easy, to write Frank Castle. Like, naturally easy. And that's surely not a good thing for anyone, right? haha. And so I couldn't figure out if I was still writing him well or if I'd created my own version and that's why I was connecting so well. So I stopped and then I wanted to get it done in time for Season 3 and that...did not happen. I tried and I sucked. Even now, I still can't tell if it's good characterisation. So I'll let you all decide that.
> 
> The other thing I wanted to say thank you for was all your reactions to the arguments, the sides, in this. It was really interesting to read how you all took to each side of it and I never said anything myself at the time but I was Team Karen the whole time haha. But so many of were with Frank and that's amazing. It means that even though I wrote him sometimes as an asshole, I still made him sympathetic. Real, I hope? Enough for readers to root for him and I think that's really the best compliment I can get. So thank you.
> 
> If you can stand it, I would like to do another two parts in this Series. One a one shot, and the other...well I'm not sure how I'll do that yet, but I think it'll be fun to write :)
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


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